THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


THE  MOTHER-IN-LAW; 

OR, 

MARRIED  IN  HASTE. 


BY 


J    MRS.  EMMA  D.  E.  N. ,  SOUTHWOBTH. 

AFTHOR  OF  "ISHMAEL,  OR,  IS  THE  DEPTHS,"  "THE  MISSINQ  BRIDE,"  "THE  CHANGED  BRIDES," 
-BOW  HE  WON  HER,"  "A  NOBLB  U)RD,"   "TRIED  FOR  HER  LIFE,"  "A  BEAUTIFUL  FIEND," 

"DESERTED  WIFE,"  "WIDOW'S  SON,"  "THE  LOST  HEIRESS,"  "FAMILY  DOOM," 

"THE  ARTIST'S  LOVE,"  "GIPSY'S  PROPHECY,"  "HAUNTED  HOMESTEAD," 

"FALLEN  PRIDE,"  "  VICTOR'S  TRIUMPH,"  "  THE  CORSE  OFCL1FTON," 

"SPECTRE  LOVER,"  "MAIDEN  WIDOW,"  "FORTUNE  SEEKER," 


'PRINCE  OF  DARKNESS,"  "  VIVIA,"  "  BRIDE'S  F 
"SELF-RAISED,"  "THREE  BEAUTIES,"  "INDI 
"PISCABDFJ)  DAUGHTER."  "W1FE'8  VICTORY,." 


— —  STie  fias  alt 
TJiat  would  insure  an  angf.l's/all; 
But  there's  a,  cool,  collected  look, 
As  if  her  pulses  heat  by  book,— 
A  measured  tone,  a  cold  reply, 
A  management  of  voice  and  eye, 
A  calm,  possessed,  authentic  air, 
Tltat  leaves  a  doubt  of  softness  there, 

Till look  and  worship  as  I  may. 

My  fevered  thoughts  willpass  away. — WlLiaa. 


YORK 
THE   FSDEltA      BOOK   COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


CferTSSBKT,  ISVO, 

By  T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS. 
Tbe  Mother-in-law. 


CONTENTS. 


i. — The  Isle  of  Rays,      .......  2t 

n. — The  Haughty  Family, SI 

m.— Mont  Crystal,            .        .        .      '«        .        .        .  84 

if, — The  Drawing- Room  at  Mont  Crystal,            .        .  40 

v. — The  Mother  and  Daughter, 4T 

n.— The  Old  Wainscoted  Hall, 66 

VH.— The  Crags, 81 

rm. — General  Stuart-Gordon '•  "Own  Man,"        .        .  89 

ix.— The  Mistress  and  the  Maid,     ....  74 

x.— The  Old  Country  Schoolmaster,           ...  84 

ao. — The  Dovecote  and  the  Dove, 88 

xn. — "Lord  Lion,  King-at- Arms,"       ....  103 

XOT.— Britannia,         .        .        .        .        .        .        •        .  121 

xiv. — Kate  Jumper,       .        .        .        .        .        .        .  126 

XT. — The  Christmas  Party  at  Mont  Crystal,      .        .        .  138 

xvi. — Susan  Somerville,        ......  M2 

xvn. — Brutus  Lion,    ........  161 

xvra.— Brighty's  Conquest,     ......  Itt 

xix.— The  Bridal, 184 

xx. — The  Revelers,      .......  MM 

xxi.— The  Portrait,            ....*.  214 

xxn. — Spring  at  the  Isle  of  Says,          .        «        •        .  218 

xxm. — A  Parlor  Storm,        .......  Stt 


1563085 


28  OOJTTBNH. 

xxiT.-Tke  Old  Man's  Darliag,    .  .          .         .  XM 

xxv. — The  L&ir, Ml 

XZTI. — Death  at  the  Crags, 804 

xxvn. — The  Gerfalcon,     .  ....  323 

xxvin. — The  Two  Attachments,  .         .         *         .  381 

.—Mrs.  General  Stuart  Gordca  at  Home,  .         .  849 

E. — A  Chamber  Scene,    ......  Ml 

i.— "The  Thunderbolt," 171 

.—Mont  Crystal, 893 

ii.— The  Solitary, 408 

r. — Margaret,          .......  423 

.— Litti*  Brighty, 434 

xxxvi. — The  Trarelara, 462 

ZZXTII. — Louis  and  Susan, 488 

zzzmx.— Th«  Swoop  of  the  <HrfalMB,  444 


THE 

MOTHER-IN-LAW; 

OR, 
MARRIED  IN  HASTE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE    ISLE    OF    RAYS. 

8k«  shall  dwell  in  some  little  bright  isle  of  her  own, 

By  a  bine  crystal  river  encircled  alone, 

Where  the  dewy  leaf  waves  in  the  fresh  blooming  bowers, 

And  the  bee  banquets  on  through  the  parterres  of  flowers.— 

I  AM  about  to  attempt  the  description  of  one  of  the  most 
nblime  and  beautiful  landscapes  in  Virginia.     The  river 

,  taking  its  rise  in  the  Alleghany  mountains,  flowa 

through  the  valley  of  Virginia,  and,  passing  through  a  de- 
file of  the  Blue  Ridge  mountains,  falls,  roaring  and  re- 
bounding, from  a  rocky  precipice,  and  boils  howling  on, 
over  and  between  the  jagged  and  pointed  rocks  sticking  up 
or  piled  up  in  its  channel.  It  is  a  wild,  furious,  and  terri- 
fying scene,  inspiring  delirium  in  the  nervous  beholder — 
the  thundering  falls,  the  mad  river  foaming  between  its  stu- 
pendous banks,  and  the  waters  hissing  and  leaping  from 
their  rocky  bed  like  frenzied  thoughts  from  the  brain  of  an 
enchained  maniac.  A  quarter  of  a  mile  below  this  terrific 
gceue  the  river  declines,  and,  falling  over  a  second  ledge, 

(29) 


10  ffXB     XOTH1E-IV-LAW. 

spreads  lte«lf  out  and  opens  its  arms  to  encircle  a 
beautiful  island,  a  very  gem  of  tho  river.  This  island, 
iparkling  and  glancing  in  sunshine  and  water,  from  the  pe- 
culiar aspect  of  its  dewy  and  resplendent  beauty,  was  called, 
in  the  poetic  language  of  the  Indians,  "  The  Isle  of  Sun- 
beams," and  "  The  Isle  of  Smiles  and  Tears."  But  the  first 
Anglo-Saxon  "invader"  of  the  territory  called  it  "  The  Isle 
of  Rays."  The  banks  of  the  river  on  each  side  were  steep 
and  rocky,  and  the  isle  itself  arose  high  from  the  waters, 
its  base  a  solid  rock  covered  with  a  deep,  rich  soil,  and 
crowned  with  a  luxuriant  growth  of  vegetation.  Through 
the  middle  of  this  isle,  dividing  but  not  separating  it,  ran  a 
clear,  beautiful  creek.  This  creek  was  higher  than  the  level 
of  the  river.  It  took  its  rise  in  a  spring  spouting  from  the 
rock  on  the  western  and  higher  end  of  the  isle,  and  flow- 
ing, singing  through  it,  ran  on  to  meet  the  rising  snn,  and 
tumbled  laughing  over  the  eastern  rock  in  the  open  arms 
of  the  river. 

At  the  time  our  story  opens,  a  bridge,  light  and  elegant 
as  the  handle  of  a  lady's  work-basket,  arched  above  this 
creek.  Although  the  high  cliffs  of  the  isle  were  on  a  level 
with  the  steep  rocks  that  formed  the  banks  of  the  river,  no 
bridge  had  been  thrown  across,  uniting  it  to  the  main  land. 
Stone  steps  were  cut  in  the  rocky  sides  of  the  isle,  at  the 
foot  of  which  a  boat  was  moored.  Stone  steps  were  also 
cut  in  the  steep  banks  of  the  river,  for  the  convenience  of 
communication.  The  northern  division  of  this  isle  of 
beauty  had  been  left  in  all  the  wild  loveliness  of  nature. 
The  southern  division  had  been  cleared  up,  and  laid  ont  in 
groves,  lawns,  terraces,  gardens,  and  conservatories.  Upon 
the  highest  point  of  this  southern  division  of  the  isle,  stood 
an  elegant  mansion,  built  of  white  freestone,  and  surrounded 
by  piazzas,  both  above  and  below,  and  running  all  aronnd 
the  boose.  Below  these  came  a  terrace  covered  with  green 
tar£  and  diversified  by  shade-trees  and  by  parterres  of 


fXl     ISLK     OF     BAYS.  ftl 

flowers.  From  this,  marble  steps  descended  to 
the  lawn.  This  lawn  was  traversed  by  serpentine  walki, 
which,  winding  over  the  turf  between  borders  of  bright 
flowers  or  rows  of  pine-trees,  by  the  side  of  a  singing 
brooklet,  beneath  the  shadow  of  an  old  oak  or  elm,  around 
the  margin  of  a  clear  pond,  over  the  swell  of  a  green  hill, 
or  under  the  shadow  of  a  gray  rock,  would  terminate  at 
some  rustic  seat,  some  tasteful  arbor,  sequestered  grove,  or 
dewy  dell,  with  its  half-shaded  spring,  that  "  now  in  laugh- 
ter, now  in  tears,"  sprung  from  the  rock,  sparkling  in  the 
sunlight  glimmering  through  the  overhanging  leaves ;  or  at 
the  stone  steps,  at  the  foot  of  which  lay  the  little  boats ;  or 
at  the  wildly  beautiful  falls  where  the  glad  creek  leaped 
shouting  into  the  river.  When  the  light  of  the  morning 
sun  flashed  on  the  waters  of  the  creek,  the  falls,  and  the 
river,  by  the  contrast  of  the  dark  rocks  and  shadowy  woods, 
the  bright  waters  glanced  back  to  heaven  scintillating 
streams  of  dazzling  light,  that  gave  to  the  island  its  appro- 
priate name  of  "The  Isle  of  Rays."  The  picturesque 
island  contained  in  itself  about  two  hundred  acres.  The 
estate  attached  to  it — "The  Island  Estate" — comprised 
several  thousand  acres,  extending  over  the  north  side,  and 
up  and  down  the  river.  This  was  the  great  property  of 
the  county,  and  from  the  first  owner  of  the  soil  at  the  first 
settlement  of  the  country  had  descended,  undivided,  from 
the  father  to  the  eldest  son. 

The  Stuart-Gordons  had  been  settled  on  The  Island 
Estate  for  a  hundred  and  fifty  years  before  Margaret,  thei 
the  sole  heiress  of  the  property,  v/as  born. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE    HAUGHTY    FAMILY. 

Tonr  ancient  honM  T    No  more.     I  cannot  MC 

The  wondrous  merits  of  a  pedigree, 

Of  royal  lineage,  or  a  proud  display 

Of  smoky  ancestor*  in  wax  and  clay.— Clifford. 

WE  have  come  to  it  at  last,  reader.  The  Stuart-Gor- 
dons were,  not  one  of  the  first,  but  positively  and  incontro- 
vertibly  the  first  family  in  Virginia — if  first  in  princely  de- 
scent, first  in  wealth,  first  in  the  settlement  of  the  country, 
and  first  in  pride  and  pretension,  constitute  a  "  first  family 
in  Virginia." 

The  Stnart-Gordons  claimed  descent,  with  what  truth  I 
know  not,  from  the  Royal  House  of  Scotland.  For  several 
reasons,  I  am  certainly  inclined  to  the  opinion  that  their 
claim  was  not  an  unfounded  one ;  though  most  probably 
the  Royal  quartering  of  their  family  escutcheon  was  crossed 
by  the  bar-sinister.  One  of  my  own  private  reasons  for 
believing  that  the  blood  of  the  Stuarts  still  frets  in  the 
reins  of  the  Gordons  is  this ;  in  all  their  old  family  por- 
traits, and  in  the  face  of  every  living  member  of  the  house 
of  Stuart-Gordon,  may  be  traced,  the  serious  brooding  eye— •• 
the  beautiful  mouth — with  that  singular  blending  of  strength 
and  weakness — of  fire  and  indolence — of  self-will  and  inde- 
cision— of  intellect  and  sensuality — that  irelancholy,  naif- 
spiritual,  half-voluptuous,  expression  of  countenance,  which 
distinguished  the  ill-starred  family  from  the  time  that  their 
strong  Scottish  blood  wa§  diluted  in  the  marriage  of  Jamei 
T.  with  Mary  of  Lorraine,  and  still  farther  reduced  in  tht 
(M) 


TE1     HAUGHTY     FAMILY.  fti 

anion  of  their  daughter  Mary  Stuart  with  the  imbecile 
Henry,  Lord  Darnley.  Reader,  did  it  ever  occur  to  yon 
to  trace  the  downfall  of  that  Royal  House  to  the  degen- 
eracy of  its  stock  from  these  two  unfortunate  marriages  ? 
If  this  were  the  place,  or  I  had  the  time,  I  could  almost 
prove  it.  But  to  proceed  with  my  story. 

Margaret  Stuart-Gordon  was  a  great  toast  in  her  time, 
M  yon  may  well  suppose.  In  her  face,  too,  were  seen  the 
large  tender  eyes  and  sweet  arched  lips  of  Mary  Stuart  and 
Mary  of  Lorraine.  In  her  twenty-first  year  she  was  given 
in  marriage  to  Captain  Henry  Cartwright,  a  young  officer 
who  had  distinguished  himself  in  the  Revolutionary  strug- 
gle. On  the  day  of  marriage,  as  the  sole  condition  upon 
which  the  hand  of  an  heiress  of  the  house  could  ever  he 
betrothed,  he  assumed  the  name  of  Stuart-Gordon.  One 
only  child,  a  delicate  fair-haired  boy,  blessed  this  union. 
To  this  son,  of  course,  the  property  would  fall  in  regular 
entail.  When  Louis  Stuart-Gordon  was  nearly  eighteen 
years  of  age,  he  lost  his  beautiful  and  beloved  mother,  and 
became  the  sole  and  the  sufficient  consolation  of  his  be- 
reaved and  grieving  father ;  and  it  is  at  this  period  that  our 
story  opens.  Louis,  at  about  the  age  of  eighteen,  was  one  of 
the — uo,  not  handsome  as  a  man — but  one  of  the  most  beau- 
tiful youths  ever  seen — the  image  of  his  lovely  mother;  the 
•ame  wavy,  soft  hair  ;  the  same  large,  tender  eyes ;  the  same 
sweet  mouth,  delicate  complexion,  and  mild  expression.  His 
figure  was  slender ;  his  air,  gait,  and  gesture,  graceful ;  and 
his  manners,  gentle.  His  temperament  was  poetic.  This 
beautiful  isle  was  his  home — his  heaven ;  here  he  would 
wander  all  day  among  the  shadowy  woods  or  hoary  rocks, 
or  sail  upon  the  bright  waters.  Yet,  such  was  the  tender- 
Bess  of  his  heart,  that,  in  all  his  strolling  and  sailing,  he 
never  caught  a  fish,  killed  a  rabbit,  or  shot  a  bird — nay, 
more,  he  never  wantonly  trod  np^v  a  worm  or  crashed  • 
flower  beneath  his  feet. 


14  T  H  K     MOTHEE-IX-LAW. 

Between  this  young  poet  and  his  mother  had  existed  the 
most  perfect  sympathy ;  and  at  her  death  the  being  of  the 
boy  seemed  severed  in  twain.  He  mourned  her  as  sin- 
cerely as  ever  son  mourned  a  mother.  For  a  time  he  had 
•nppressed  his  own  sorrow,  and  devoted  himself  to  his 
f»th«r;'but  when,  after  the  lapse  of  a  few  weeks,  he  fonnd 
the  old  gentleman  recovering  his  cheerfulness,  and  even 
occasionally  breaking  out  into  his  old  mirth  and  jollity, 
he  withdrew  himself,  indulging  his  mood  of  ~everie  in  the 
groves  and  among  the  rocks  of  his  beloved  isle.  Some- 
times, overcome  by  the  vivid  recollections  of  his  dear  sister- 
like  mother,  he  would  give  way  to  tears,  and,  leaning  his 
head  upon  his  hands,  let  them  flow  freely.  In  such  moods 
his  father  would  often  find  him  ;  and,  without  intentional 
uukindness,  and  with  a  mistaken  notion  of  arousing  him, 
would  exclaim,  "  Degenerate  driveler  1  you  have  no  man- 
hood. I  blush  for  you,  Louis.  Idler  I"  At  another  time  : 
"  Up  with  you  I  and  go  a  courting !  At  your  age  I  was  in 
lovfe  with  half  the  girls  in  the  country,  and  had  all  of  them 
in  love  with  me  Up,  Louis !  Up  I" 


CHAPTER  IIL 

MONT    CRYSTAL. 


»  gradual  hill,  the  mansion  iwelU 
In  ancient  English  grandeur  ;  turrets,  spires, 
And  window!)  climbing  high  from  base  to  roof, 
In  wide  and  radiant  rows,  bespeak  its  birth.—  I 


one  visits  a  country  neighborhood  for  the  first 
time,  with  ac  intention  of  remaining  a  few  weeks,  looking 
from  the  windows  of  the  house  the  first  morning,  after 
breakfast,  one  sees  —  t^ere  the  square  front  of  fome  iplen 


MONT    CRYSTAL.  SI 

did  edifice  rising  in  the  distance — fore  the  sharp  roof  of 
•ome  humble  cottage  sticking  up  through  a  near  thicket  of 
trees — and  indulges  in  indolent  speculation  or  eager  cari- 
osity as  to  who  lives  in  the  palace  or  who  toils  in  the  cot- 
tage. Or,  if  one  takes  a  walk  up  the  turnpike,  or  a  ramble 
through  the  forest,  one  looks  continually  on  this  side  and 
on  that,  for  new  developments  of  scenery  and  events,  with 
an  almost  childish  love  of  adventure  and  almost  infantile 
curiosity.  This  propensity  is  an  evergreen  of  the  heart, 
and  does  not  wither  or  fade  with  advancing  years.  So, 
condescending  reader,  if  you  have  come,  at  my  invitatioa, 
to  visit  the  Isle  of  Rays,  it  will  only  be  a  due  courtesy  to 
point  out  to  you  the  most  important  seats  of  the  neighbor- 
hood, preparatory  to  introducing  you  to  some  of  the  most 
femarkable  neighbors.  And  first  in  point  of  wealth  and 
family  is  Mont  Crystal,  the  residence  of  Mrs.  Dr.  Arm- 
strong. You  will  please  to  observe  the  elegant  edifice  of 
white  granite,  half  embosomed  in  trees,  "crowning"  the 
summit  of  a  hill  on  the  bank  of  the  river,  visible  from  the 
front  windows  of  the  Island  Lodge.  This  "palace"  had 
for  generations  past  been  the  residence  of  the  Armstrongs 
of  Mont  Crystal,  as  their  estate  was  called.  This  immense 
estate  comprised  many  thousand  acres,  and  was  second  in 
importance  only  to  the  celebrated  Island  Estate,  whose 
southern  boundaries  it  met.  Please,  dear  reader,  note 
these  fa*ts,  for  I  am  telling  you  a  true  story,  some  point* 
of  which  I  wish  to  fix  upon  your  memory  with  almost  legal 
precision  and  distinctness.  The  Island  Estate  was  thf 
great  property  of  the  whole  Valley  of  Virginia.  The 
Mont  Crystal  was  thft  very  next  in  point  of  importance. 
Their  boundary  lines  meL—  the  Island  Estate  lying  on  the 
Island,  and  north  of  it — the  Mont  Crystal  property  south 
from  the  banks  of  the  river,  that  formed  the  division  line 
The  sole  heir  of  the  Island  Estate  was  Lonls  Stnart-Gor* 
don,  an  o*ly  son,  born  on  the  22d  of  February,  lft~*  Th* 


M  T  M  I     MOTMIE-IK-LAW. 

•ole  heiress  of  the  Mont  Crystal  Estate  was  Louise  Hector 
Armstrong,  the  only  daughter  of  the  late  Doctor  Hector 
Armstrong  and  Hortense  Louise  Blackistone,  his  wife,  and 
born  also  on  the  22d  of  February,  two  years  later.  Louis 
Stuart-Gordon  heired  his  estate  in  right  of  his  mother — 
Louise  Hector  Armstrong  in  right  of  her  father.  Th« 
family  on  the  Isle  consisted  of  a  father  and  son — the  family 
at  Mont  Crystal  of  a  mother  and  daughter,  with  the  gov- 
erness  of  the  latter. 

Sprung  from  one  of  the  haughtiest  families  in  Virginia, 
«nd  claiming  descent  from  one  of  the  most  ancient  and 
noblest  houses  in  the  north  of  England,  Hortense  Louise 
Blackistone  had  in  very  haughtiness  remained  unmarried 
until  she  had  nearly  reached  her  thirtieth  year ;  her  proud, 
cold  heart  untouched,  while  her  splendid  style  of  beauty 
had  drawn  around  her  crowds  of  admirers.  Her  hand, 
reserved  for  the  highest  and  haughtiest  aspirant,  was  at 
last  bestowed  upon  Dr.  Hector  Armstrong,  a  young  prac- 
titioner of  medicine,  for  years  a  suitor  to  the  "proud 
ladye,"  but  who  might  have  sued  in  vain,  had  not  the  death 
of  his  elder  brother  left  him  sole  heir  to  the  great  Mont 
Crystal  property ;  and  so  Miss  Blackistone  became  Mrs. 
Armstrong,  and  Dr.  Armstrong  bore  his  bride  away  to  the 
"  palace,"  as  it  was  called  in  the  neighborhood.  This  was 
about  two  years  from  the  time  that  Margaret  Stuart-Gor- 
don was  given  in  marriage  to  Captain  Henry  Cartwright, 
afterwards  General  Stuart-Gordon.  Never  was  a  greater 
misnomer  than  that  of  Dr.  Hector  Armstrong — for  he 
never  was  known  to  "hector"  over  anybody  or  thing,  nor 
wag  he  strong  anywhere,  in  mind  or  body.  He  was  a 
small,  slight,  fair-skinned,  red-headed,  blue-eyed  manikin, 
whom  people,  when  they  wished  to  praise  him,  called 
"nice,"  "amiable,"  "harmless,"  "mild,"  "inoffensive," 
and  such  other  offenrive  epithet*.  Soon  after  his  coming 
into  hia  property  and  his  marrl&f  e,  which  happened  abort 


MOJNTC&Y8TAL.  27 

the  same  time,  his  change  of  fortune  and  of  life  and  hli 
indolence  of  habits  led  bin  to  abandon  his  profession,  and 
from  that  time  he  began  to  sink  into  privacy,  into  insig- 
nificance, into  nonentity ;  while  Mrs.  Hector  Armstrong, 
whose  name  was  no  misnomer,  flourished  "  like  a  greea  bay 
tree," — just  as  yon  have  seen  a  weak  plant  shrivel  and 
•brink  and  wilt  down  by  the  side  of  one  of  stronger,  hard- 
ier growth,  until  it  is  dead. 

Thus  Dr.  Hector  Armstrong's  individuality  and  dignity 
were  absorbed.  The  very  house  was  called — not  Dr.  Arm- 
itroTig's,  but  Mrs.  Dr.  Armstrong's.  This  was  not  inten- 
tional on  the  part  of  the  lady.  She  was  too  really  proud 
not  to  wish  to  throw  over  her  imbecile  "  lord  and  master" 
the  prestige  of  power  and  dignity  ;  but,  somehow  or  other, 
the  purple  would  not  hang  naturally  or  gracefully  about 
the  shoulders  of  the  little  gentleman,  and  so  it  fell  out  quite 
inevitably  that  the  neighborhood,  as  well  as  the  household, 
looked  up,  as  the  head  of  the  family,  to  Mrs.  Hector  Arm- 
strong. It  was  in  the  second  year  of  their  marriage  that 
their  only  child — a  daughter — was  born,  and  named,  as  ia 
frequently  the  custom  in  Virginia,  after  both  parents, 
Louise  Hector.  This  child  almost  entirely  resembled  her 
father :  scarcely  a  single  trait  of  her  mother's  face,  form, 
or  character  could  be  traced  in  her.  When  Louise  was 
about  four  years  of  age,  Dr.  Hector  Armstrong  died,  leav- 
ing the  haughty  lady  in  the  undisputed  possession  of  tbeir 
estate  and  their  daughter. 

Can  yon  conceive,  reader,  a  mother's  lore  for  ber  only 
child, — being  a  passion  deep,  intense,  absorbing ;  yet  set 
Hah,  jealous,  and  exacting  ?  This  was  the  affection,  if  it 
deserved  the  name,  that  Hortense  Armstrong  cherished  fov 
her  daughter.  She  had  been  jealous  of  the  child's  affection 
for  her  own  father,  jealous  of  her  attachment  to  her  mulatto 
nurse,  though  the  state  the  lady  hsbituaily  kept  continually 
left  the  gentle  little  child  in  charge  of  her  attendant*.  Bit 
2 


S3  THE     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

after  the  death  of  her  father,  and  after  the  entrance  of 
Louise  upon  her  fifth  year,  the  mother  took  her  more  par- 
ticalarly  under  her  own  charge,  conducting  her  education 
herself;  the  whole  bent  of  this  education  was  to  one  object 
—the  entire  subjugation  of  the  will  of  Louise  to  that  of 
herselfr-to  gain  a  life-long  ascendency  over  the  heart  and 
mind  of  the  child,  and  thereby  the  disposal  of  her  destiny. 
Not  only  did  she  require  from  her  daughter  the  implicit 
obedience  claimed  by  and  ceded  to  parents  by  every  law, 
human  and  divine,  but  she  aspired  to  bring  down  the  intel- 
lect and  affections,  the  very  mind  and  spirit  of  her  child 
into  absolute  subjection  to  her  will.  Not  a  "  reasonable," 
but  an  unquestioning  submission  she  demanded.  She 
would  have  wielded  Louise  at  her  will,  as  she  would  wield 
her  own  hand  or  foot.  Much  as  she  loved  Lonise  after  her 
own  haughty  and  condescending  manner,  it  is  not  to  be  de- 
nied that  she  appeared  to  regard  her  child — her  own  child, 
as  she  called  her — somewhat  in  the  light  of  a  chattel.  Was 
she  not  her  own  child  ?  She  was  very  prond  of  her.  Was 
not  she  heiress  to  Mont  Crystal,  a  valuable  appendage  ? 
In  verity  she  was  extremely  proud  of  her  young  daughter, 
as  she  was  of  her  palace  home,  her  splendid  equipages,  and 
her  troop  of  menials. 

I  said,  her  education  was  directed  all  to  this  point — the 
subjection  of  her  will  to  that  of  her  mother;  and,  further, 
the  utter  annihilation  of  her  mental  and  moral  individuality 
and  responsibility.  Filial  love,  veneration,  and  obedience 
inculcated  upon  her  mind  as  the  highest  religion — "Honor 
thy  father  and  thy  mother,  that  thy  days  may  be  long  in 
the  land  that  the  Lord  thy  God  hath  given  thee."  "Th« 
eye  that  mocketh  at  his  father,  and  despiseth  to  obey  his 
mother,  the  ravens  of  the  valley  shall  pick  it  out,  and  the 
young  eagles  shall  eat  it."  These  and  similar  texts  of 
Scripture  were  copied  out  and  given  to  Louise  to  be  com- 
mitUd  to  memory.  This  was  the  creed  impressed  npon  the 


MONT     CRYSTAL.  19 

docile  minu  of  the  infant.  Had  its  object  been  a  righteous 
OLe,  this,  as  far  as  it  went,  would  have  been  very  commend- 
able. Nothing  is  certainly  more  reasonable  and  proper 
than  the  exaction  of  this  obedience  from  children  to  the 
parents  God  has  placed  as  Providences  over  them ;  and 
nothing  is  more  beautiful  than  the  graceful  yielding  of  this 
affectionate  and  reverential  submission.  But,  in  this  case, 
the  object  was  not  righteous ;  and  reason  and  religion  were 
jperverted  and  inverted,  and  texts  of  Scripture  garbled,  to 
attain  an  ascendency  over  the  child's  mind  for  any  purpose 
of  good,  or  evil  that  might  seem  good,  in  the  eyes  of  the 
not  over-scrupulous  mother.  By  nature  and  temperament 
Louise  was  gentle  and  impressible.  What  wonder  that,  in 
her  mother's  hands,  she  should  have  seemed  like  clay  in  the 
hands  of  the  potter?  that  she  should  have  become  moulded 
exactly  to  her  will  ?  Nor  is  it  any  wonder  that,  while  fear- 
ing her  awful  mother  so  much,  Louise  should  have  loved 
her  with  a  devotion  amounting  to  superstitious  idolatry, — 
for  it  is  ever  thus,  that  most  austere  and  severe  parents 
have  the  most  gentle  and  affectionate  children,  even  as 
harshest,  sternest  husbands  have  the  most  tender  and  sab- 
missive  wives ;  as  if  some  gentle  natures  were  created  for 
the  amelioration  of  the  harsher,  and  formed  so  as  to  draw 
from  their  self-devotion  their  largest  happiness. 

When  Louise  Armstrong  was  about  twelve  years  of  age, 
a  governess  was  engaged  to  finish  her  education — that  is, 
to  instruct  her  in  the  modern  languages,  music,  drawing, 
embroidery,  &c.,  Mrs.  Armstrong  haughtily  objecting  to 
the  "  mixed"  society  of  boarding-schools  on  the  one  hand* 
and  feeling  a  great  disinclination  to  lose  the  company,  or 
cede  over  the  control  of  her  daughter  on  the  other.  Gov- 
ernesses were  not  so  plenty  twenty  years  ago  as  at  present, 
or  she  would  never  have  been  driven  to  the  necessity  of  em- 
ploying a  "  wild  Irish  girl"  to  cultivate  the  mind,  and  per- 
fect the  manners  of  her  only  child,  the  beauty  and  the  heir- 


*0  THB      MOTHER-IK    LAW. 

C88.  The  governes?,  Miss  O'Riley,  as  the  haughty  lady  of 
Mont  Crystal  addressed  her — Britannia  O'Riley,  as  sh« 
wrote  herself — Brighty,  as,  for  her  bright  beauty  and  bril- 
liant wit  and  humor,  her  intimate  friends  christened  her, 
was  a  Washington  girl  of  Hibernian  parentage ;  she  wfcs 
about  twenty-five  years  of  age  at  the  time  our  story  opens, 
of  medium  height,  moderately  full  figure,  black  eyes  and 
hair,  and  dark  complexion,  features  irregular,  forehead 
broad  and  full,  eyebrows  slender  and  black,  arched  toward 
*he  nose,  and  elevated  toward  the  temples,  bright,  piercing 
eyes,  nez  retrousse,  and  lips  full,  crimson,  and  quivering, 
formed  the  lout  ensemble  of  a  countenance  irresistibly 
charming  in  its  sparkling  piquancy. 

Such  was  the  parlor  circle  of  the  family  of  Mont  Crystal. 
Let  me  introduce  you. 


CHAPTER  IT. 

THX    DRAWING-ROOM    AT    MONT    CRYSTAL 

I  know  the  «pot  ; 
The  enruin'd  windows  half  ezelad«  the  light, 

Yet  eager  eUll  to  make  their  war, 
A  thonitand  elfin  sunbeams  bright, 

Glittering  about  the  carpet  play. 
But  what  attracts  yon  ehieCy  there 
Ii  one  who  ID  a  cuehion'd  rocking-chair, 
Doth  lit  and  read.—  Mrt.  A.  If  Well*. 

DEAR  READER,  your  story-tellers,  some  of  them,  have  an 
Inveterate  propensity  to  describe  comfortable  firesides,  scene* 
of  which  they  have  occasionally  caught  a  glimpse.  It  is 
perhaps  an  effort  of  the  soul  to  escape  the  chill  realities  of 
lodgings  in  rented  houses,  by  taking  refuge  in  the  hcmei 
of  memory,  or  of  imagination.  One  can  almost 


CJ.T  »k«  fc 

•f  Un  im*«iaaUoi  ot  a  I*Mt" 


TH1     DBAW1NQ- ROOM.  41 

It  is  the  declina  of  a  cold,  bright  winter's  day.  Follow 
me  into  a  vast,  luxurious  drawing-room,  in  which  the  crim- 
§on  shadows  predominate — through  which  a  glowing  crim- 
•on  gloom  prevails,  brightly  streaked  by  the  rays  of  the 
setting  sun  glancing  through  the  curtains  in  slanting  streams 
of  golden  light,  kindling  into  refulgence  the  various  orna- 
ments of  crystal  or  gilding,  about  the  room,  and  striking 
•parks  of  fire  from  a  diamond  ring  upon  the  most  beautiful 
white  hand  you  ever  saw — a  hand  that  held  a  little  Psyche 
pocket-mirror,  and  that  belonged  to  a  lady,  the  rest  of 
whose  person  was  hidden  in  the  deep  recesses  of  the  velvet 
chair.  Walk  around  in  front  of  her  chair,  and  take  a  view 
of  her — sire  will  not  see  you,  even  if  you  were  not  invisible, 
as  all  subjects  of  imagination  are  in  the  scenes  they  visit,  so 
absorbed  is  she  in  her  occupation.  And  what  is  her  occupa- 
tion in  that  still,  warm,  bright  scene  ?  Contemplating  her 
own  beauty — gazing  dreamingly,  lovingly,  into  her  own 
languishing  eyes.  There  is  no  expression  of  gratified  vanity 
on  that  bright  countenance — there  was  the  emotion,  half 
intellectual,  half  sensual,  of  the  artist  soul  in  love  with  its 
own  beautiful  incarnation. 

Yes,  Britannia  O'Riley  felt  that  she  was  very  beautiful, 
and  it  made  her  happy.  When  at  night  she  thanked  God 
for  "  health,  friends,  and  raiment,"  she  thanked  him  also 
with  an  earnest  sincerity  for  the  gift  of  beauty.  It  was  a 
luxury  in  a  quiet  room,  at  the  still  twilight  hour,  to  sit  in 
the  deep  chair,  and  smile  dreamingly  in  her  own  eyes — yet 
she  was  not  vain.  Vanity  is  a  compound  of  two  elements, 
self-conceit  and  desire  of  pnase.  Now,  Britannia  O'Riley 
had  a  just  self-appreciation,  and  that  excluded  all  anxiooi 
thought  of  the  admiration  of  others,  at  least  of  those  around 
her. 

But  Britannia  knew  that  hei  person  was  beautiful,  and 
talf  worshipped  it  accordingly.  You  will  condemn  her  for 
it  I  Well,  »o  t*  it  I  I  am  not  holding  Britannia  up  for  t 


42  TH«     XOTXlK-Hr.LAW. 

model  of  excellence,  I  am  r»-—-rMng  her  as  she  was.  Ton 
will  condemn,  bat  yon  will  not  wonder  at  her.  Observe 
her  as  she  sit*  in  that  deep  chair — note  her  Galwaygian 
style  of  features  and  complexion — that  matchless  Hibernia- 
Bpanish  beauty,  indigenous  nowhere  bnt  to  the  west  coast 
of  Ireland.  The  fall  carnation  lips— the  cheeks  of  bright 
carnation,  shading  softly  off  into  the  faintest  rose  tint,  and 
lost  in  the  snowy  temples  and  forehead,  in  contrast  with  the 
•lender,  arched  Jet-black  eyebrows — the  radiant  bloe-black 
eyes,  the  shining  bands  of  bine-black  hair.  Britannia  mast 
have  been  infatuated  with  the  piquante  beauty  of  this  tint, 
for  her  favorite  dress  was  a  rich  blue-black  figured  satin, 
fitting  in  exquisite  perfection  her  finely-developed  form, 
relieved  here  and  there  by  costly  and  sparkling  gems.  Her 
whole  costume  was  rich  and  rare,  and  her  bearing  gently 
prond — and  she  was  nothing  but  a  poor  governess.  Of 
course,  she  expended  nearly  all  of  her  moderate  salary  in 
dress.  What  did  she  do  that  for  ?  yon  may  inquire.  Did 
she  hope  to  get  a  husband  among  the  young  Virginian 
aristocrats  ?  No,  indeed  I  In  haughty  England,  it  is  true 
that  once  in  a  long  time  a  gentleman  may  fall  In  love  with 
and  marry  some  beautiful  governess,  but  in  Virginia,  such 
a  republican  proceeding  is  unheard  of — impossible !  I  do 
not  know  that  it  ever  occurs  to  a  young  Virginia  planter 
that  a  governess  is  a  woman,  or  anything  else  but  a  teach- 
ing instrument  in  the  morning ;  a  parlor  ornament  in  the 
evening.  -1  parlor  ornament — I  am  sorry  to  say,  by  the 
way,  that  in  the  South  governesses  are  valued  more  foi 
dress,  style,  manner,  and  other  drawing-room  accomplish- 
ments, than  for  sound  and  solid  qualities  of  brain  or  heart 
As  a  general  thing,  Virginians  are  rather  proud  of  stylish 
governesses,  as  elegant  appendages  to  thefr  household.  It 
is  a  preference  quite  opposite  to  the  English  preference, 
that  for  fear  of  m&salliance  selects  old  and  plain  teachers. 
Tbe  haughtier  Yirg'nians  never  dream  of  such  a  chanoe  u 


THI     DRAWING-ROOM.  43 

i>ne  of  their  race  wishing  to  marry  a  salaried  girl.  Bri- 
tannia knew  and  felt  this,  and  refined,  intellectual,  and  ac- 
complished, as  she  was,  cared  as  little  for  it  as  yon  care  for 
the  pride  of  a  South  Sea  prince. 

While  we  have  been  talking,  the  slanting  rays  of  the  set- 
ting san,  after  having  glided  half  around  the  walls,  have 
gradually  withdrawn  themselves.  And  twilight  has  deep- 
ened into  night.  And  the  light  that  g?ows  through  the 
crimson  drawing-room  comes  now  from  the  solid  mass  of 
burning  coal  within  the  large  glittering  steel  grate,  though 
to  a  poet's  fancy  Britannia  is  brilliantly  beautiful  enough 
to  light  up  a  dark  room.  No  wonder  her  young  friends 
called  her  "Brighty."  Brighty  could  no  longer  make  love 
to  her  own  beautiful  face,  because  it  was  no  longer  an  ob- 
ject of  beauty — the  red  glare  striking  up  from  the  grate 
reversing  all  its  shadows,  and  the  order  of  nature  at  the 
game  time,  which  is  to  have  the  light  fall  down,  threw  the 
rharming  features  into  chaos.  So  Britannia,  released  from 
the  toil  and  care  of  the  day,  and  losing  the  pleasure  of 
dallying  with  her  own  eyes,  sank  into  th-e  sweet  repose 
invited  by  the  quiet  luxury  of  the  twilight  room,  every 
nerve  and  sense  at  rest,  and  her  free  thoughts  lazily  roving 
whither  they  would.  If  no  love  had  brightened  the  path 
of  Britannia's  life,  no  sorrow  had  clouded  it,  no  care  had 
roughened  it.  Left  an  orphan  in  the  charge  of  a  country- 
man of  her  father's  at  an  early  age,  with  barely  sufficient 
money  to  educate  her  for  a  teacher,  Britannia  O'Riley  had 
been  sent  to  a  boarding-school,  which  she  had  left  to  take 
her  present  place  in  Mrs.  Armstrong's  house,  a  situation 
that  she  had  held  for  nearly  three  years,  with  some  toil, 
gome  vexation,  but  much  fun.  Britannia  hud  not  a  "bit 
of  a  brogue,"  yet  she  was  Irish  enough  to  assume  it  in  its 
richest,  deepest  n>asic,  at  an  instant's  impulse — and  she 
was  malicious  enough  to  punish  the  pride  of  her  patroness 
by  falling  uito  it  upon  gr«>t  state  occasions.  There  her 


44  THE     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 


«  stopped  —  she  loved  ease,  beauty,  and  pleasant 
thoughts  too  well  to  recollect  anything  disagreeable  aftei 
the  day  of  tryanny  was  over;  and  this  was  her  honr  of 
!uii_ry  and  dreaming.  As  I  said,  she  had  neither  griefs 
nor  joys  to  remember,  or  any  very  probable  good  or  bad 
fortune  to  anticipate,  so  her  thoughts  strayed  into  the  re- 
gions of  ideality.  She  had  not  lived  long  enough,  suffered 
deeply  enough,  or  she  was  not  intellectual  and  refined 
•nongh,  to  sufficiently  appreciate  and  enjoy  music  and  poe- 
try. She  had  an  artist  soul,  and  loved  beauty,  even  her 
own  beauty;  but  it  was  the  painter  artist,  not  the  music 
artist  —  hers,  poetry  of  form,  and  not  the  poetry  of  sound 
and  measure  —  the  harmony  of  coloring,  not  the  lights  and 
shades  of  music.  And  this  artist  instinct  involuntarily 
lirected  everything  she  did,  her  dress,  attitude,  and  every 
gesture  and  motion.  One  of  poor  Brighty's  daily  vexations 
was  the  appearance  of  Mrs.  Armstrong's  huge  chased  silver 
tea-urn,  with  its  ugly  shape,  its  disproportionate  mouth 
and  spigot. 

It  was  this  love  of  the  beautiful  in  form  and  color  that 
led  Brignty  into  the  extravagances  of  a  recherche  toilet, 
and  that  ,cnt  her  into  the  crimson  lights  and  shadows  of 
the  drawing-room,  as  it  always  looked  in  the  evening,  to 
dream  ovet  her  romances.  She  was  fain  to  enliven  the 
tedium  of  her  life  and  fill  the  vacuity  of  her  thoughts  with 
novel  reading,  which  was  quite  a  passion  with  her,  but,  to 
do  Britannia  justice,  nothing  silly  or  commonplace  in  that 
line  was  acceptable  to  her.  Sir  Walter  Scott's  novels  and 
metrical  romances  were  just  in  course  of  publication,  and 
Brighty,  like  ten  thousand  of  others,  would  finish  one  and 
wait  for  another  with  a  whetted  appetite.  Shakapeare  wa« 
her  god-poet,  though  she  could  not  rise  with  him  to  hii 
nighest  conceptions  She  reproduced  with  her  pencil  and 
brnah  all  her  favorite  Shakspearean  and  Waverlej  heron, 
Uroiaes.  and  landscapes;  and  her  chamber  wai  hanf 


Y  H 1     DRAWING-HOOK.  46 

•round  with  her  specimens  of  art.  Helena  in  ghakspeare, 
Jeannie  Deans  in  Scott,  were  favorites,  and  not  Beatrice  or 
Die  Venion,  as  you  would  at  first  thought  suppose  Bright/ 
would  prefer.  She  loved  and  admired  deeper-toned  charac- 
ters than  her  own.  This  was  perhaps  natural — we  are  most 
likely  attracted  by  our  opposites,  and  value  most  in  others 
those  good  or  great  points  of  character  in  which  we  are 
deficient. 

Do  not  despise  Brighty  because  she  was  not  blind  to  her 
own  beauty.  I  am  afraid  you  will ;  yet,  as  I  am  telling  a 
true  story,  I  am  determined,  for  once,  to  draw  characters 
exactly  as  they  are,  without  softening  or  heightening  a 
defect  or  grace.  I  hasten  to  tell  you  one  good  trait  of 
Britannia  O'Riley.  One  pleasure  she  enjoyed  more  than 
that  of  admiring  herself,  more  than  reading  romances,  of 
reproducing  with  her  pencil  their  scenes,  more  than  pulling 
Jhe  ears  of  Mrs.  Armstrong's  pride  even — and  that  was  to 
supply  Susan  Somerville  with  plenty  of  good  reading,  and 
to  sympathize  heartily  with  her  enjoyment  of  it.  Perhap* 
had  there  been  an  opportunity,  her  benevolence  would  havct 
taken  a  more  legitimate  and  utilitarian  tone.  But  then* 
was  not.  The  country  was  too  new,  too  rich,  and  too 
sparsely  settled,  to  have  many  poor  or  suffering  candidate* 
for  charity.  We  have  taken  up  too  much  time  with  Brighty, 
but  in  that  fault  we  have  plenty  of  company.  Few  came 
into  her  presence,  or  sat  down  by  her  side,  without  losing; 
more  time  than  they  at  first  intended.  Brighty  7s  hoar  of 
twilight  musing  in  the  deep  chair  by  the  coal-fire  was 
short.  A  servant  in  livery  entered,  and,  by  lighting  th« 
lamps,  brought  out  all  the  flashing,  dazzling  splendor  of  the 
rather  gaudily-magnificent  drawing-room,  and  thereby  de- 
stroyed its  charm  for  a  poet-artist  like  Brighty.  The  room 
was  only  beautiful  to  her  in  twilight,  or  in  subdued  glowing 
firelight  gloom.  At  soon  as  the  servant  bad  retired  at  ons 


44  THE     MOTHBR-IX-LAW. 

dodr,  th«  other  was  thrown  open,  and  Mrs.  Armstrong 
Bailed  majestically  in,  accompanied  by  her  daughter. 

Mrs.  Armstrong  was  about  forty-five  years  of  age.  She 
was  a  woman  of  majestic  presence — very  tall,  very  full 
formed — w'ih  the  erect  carriage,  stately  step,  and  assured 
manner  that  expressed  conscious  power,  indomitable  will, 
and  accustomed  sway.  Her  features  were  strongly  marked 
— her  forehead  square  and  broad  ;  her  nose  a  high  aquiline ; 
her  chin  and  cheeks  full  and  round ;  her  lips  firmly  set ;  her 
complexion  opaque  white ;  her  eyes  dark  gray — bright, 
cold,  and  hard;  her  eyebrows  were  square,  heavy,  and 
black  ;  her  hair  was  glossy,  jet-black,  and  braided  in  large, 
aeavy  braids  down  her  round,  fall,  elastic  cheeks,  and  plaited 
in  a  thick  plait,  wound  round  the  back  of  her  head,  and  con^ 
fined  by  a  comb.  She  usually  wore  a  black  satin  dress, 
and,  as  was  customary  at  that  day,  a  light  and  elegant  tur- 
ban. The  whole  expression  of  her  countenance,  tone,  and 
manner,  was  high  and  noble,  but  it  was  the  nobility  of 
pride,  not  of  goodness. 

The  daughter  was  a  beautiful  girl  of  fifteen  summers, 
with  a  small  and  delicate  figure,  fair  hair,  fair  skin,  and  blue 
eyes,  and  that  look  of  timidity  and  deprecation  that  some 
oppressed  children  wear. 

Miss  O'Riley  arose,  and  curtsying,  left  the  ample  chair 
to  the  lady,  who,  with  a  slight  acknowledgment,  slowly  sunk 
into  it,  motioning  her  daughter  to  take  the  footstool  at  her 
feet.  Miss  O'Riley,  (we  must  bt  formal  in  the  presence  of 
the  proud  lady,)  Miss  O'Riley  fa  ind  a  seat  on  a  sofa  near 
at  hand. 


CHAPTER  T 

MOTHER    AND    DAUGHT1B 


She  has  a  oool  collected  look, 
As  If  her  pnlie*  best  by  book  ; 

A  meainre  tone,  a  oold  reply, 
A  management  of  voice  and  eye, 
A  ctlm,  poisoned,  aathentio  air, 
That  leaves  no  hope  of  mercy  there.  — 

Pac*  and  figure  of  a  child, 
Though  too  oad,  yoa  think,  and  tender, 
For  the  childhood  yon  \ronld  lend  her, 

Tet  child,  .linple,  nndeflled, 
Mnte,  obedient,  waiting  still, 
On  the  turnings  of  your  will.  —  Mrs.  Browning. 

"ARE  you  advised,  Miss  O'Riley,  of  the  manner  in  which 
your  pupil  was  engaged  at  this  hour  last  evening  ?" 

There  was  a  deliberate  arrogance  in  the  manner  of  the 
lofty  lady,  that  called  the  quick,  Irish  blood  of  Britannia 
to  her  brow.  For  au  answer  she  turned  her  eyes  on  Louise, 
who,  sitting  at  her  mother's  feet,  looked  pale  and  nervous. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  Brighty  —  "  commenced  Louise,  with 
tears  in  her  eyes. 

"Attend  to  me,  if  you  please,  Miss  O'Riley  ;  and,  my 
daughter  1  be  silent  when  your  mother  is  speaking,  and 
when  you  speak,  address  your  governess  as  I  do,  remem- 
bering that  we  call  only  our  equals  by  their  given  names 
Now,  Miss  O'Riley,  if  your  convenience  serves,  I  shall  b« 
obliged  by  your  favoring  me  with  a  reply  to  my  question.  Are 
yen,  or  rather,  were  you  at  the  time  advised  of  the  manner 
in  which  your  pupil  was  engaged  at  this  hour  last  evening  ?" 

"Haven't  the  slightest  idee,"  said  Brighty,  with  an  of- 


48  THE     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

fected  brogue,  and  a  delightful  nonchalance.  Then  qulekly 
blaming  herself  for  impertinence  to  a  lady  many  years  her 
senior,  she  immediately  changed  her  tone,  and  replied,  "No, 
madam,  I  am  not.  At  the  close  of  her  evening  lessons,  I 
conducted  her  to  your  chamber  door,  saw  her  enter,  and 
did  not  encounter  her  again,  until  we  met  at  ten.  I  hope 
that  In  the  interval  she  fell  into  no  error." 

"Into  a  very  grave  error,  Miss  O'Ritey  ;  into  an  idle 
conversation  with  young  Stuart-Gordon,  in  the  grove  below 
the  front  court  yard.  I  fortunately  saw  her  from  an  upper 
window,  and  dispatched  her  maid  to  recall  her  to  her  duty, 
and  to  my  side,"  replied  the  lady,  looking  with  cold  dis- 
pleasure upon  the  governess. 

"  I  presumed  that  Louise  had  not  left  your  side,  madam." 

"You  presumed  that  Louise  had  not  left  my  side! 
I  should  feel  favored  if  you  would  be  sure  that  Miss  Arm- 
strong is  always  in  a  position  becoming  my  daughter," 
spoke  the  lady  haughtily  ;  then  graciously,  "  That  is  all  I 
have  to  say,  Miss  O'Riley  1  you  will  oblige  me  by  bearing 
my  expressed  wishes  in  mind ;  and  now,  if  you  please,  w€ 
will  change  the  subject  of  conversation." 

"But  that  is  not  all  /have  to  say,  Mrs.  Armstrong,  and 
if  I  might  venture  to  differ  with  you,  madam,  and  offer  my 
own  riews  on  the  subject,  I  should  say  that  'Miss  Arm- 
strong' is  followed,  watched,  guided,  and  guarded,  in  short, 
like  the  world,  'governed  too  much.'  I  think — and  believe 
me,  that  it  is  with  the  most  earnest  desire  of  Miss  Arm- 
strong's welfare — r 

"  My  daughter,"  interrupted  the  lady,  turning  blandly  to 
Louise,  "  withdraw  from  the  room ;  go  into  my  chamber, 
you  will  find  a  fire  already  lighted  there,  and  stay  until  I 
recall  you." 

Louise  arose,  and  lifting  her  mother's  hand  reverently  to 
aer  lips,  curtsied,  and  left  the  room. 

"Procwd,  Miss  O'Riley,  with  what  yon  were  saying' 


THE     MOTHER     AND     DAUGHTB*.         49 

and  remember  that  in  future  you  will  infinitely  oblige  me 
by  not  honoring  me  with  advice  in  the  presence  of  Ming 
Armstrong.  Proceed ;  any  suggestion  you  may  have  to 
make  relative  to  your  pupil's  welfare,  shall  be  heard.  I 
myself  fancy  that  Miss  Armstrong  grows  thin ;  that,  how- 
ever, may  be  adolescence.  Nevertheless,  I  cannot  forget 
that  her  father  died  of  consumption,  nor  can  I  close  my 
eyes  to  the  fact  that  she  inherits  his  delicacy  of  organiza- 
tion. I  am  waiting  your  reply,  Miss  O'Riley." 

"To  be  frank  with  you,  then,  Mrs.  Armstrong,  I  think 
that  Louise — I  beg  pardon — Miss  Armstrong  does  grow 
thin.  I  think  that  she  is  worried  with  too  much  care — too 
much  culture — and  that  is  killing  her." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,  Miss  O'Riley." 

"  Madam,  you  have  seen  a  pet  killed  with  kindness,  be- 
fore now,  have  you  not  ?" 

"  You  are  still  more  incomprehensible,  Miss  O'Riley." 

"Mrs.  Armstrong,  have  you  never,  in  your  childhood, 
handled,  petted,  and  nursed  a  plump  young  kitten,  until  it 
grew  thin  and  scrawny — have  you  never  nursed  one  to 
death,  in  short? — /have." 

"  You  grow  enigmatical,  Miss  O'Riley ;  I  consult  you 
upon  the  subject  of  your  pupil's  health,  and  you  talk  to  me 
of  kittens;  pray,  explain  yourself,"  said  the  lady,  haught- 
ily. 

"I  will,"  said  Brighty,  rising  and  settling  the  folds  of 
her  blue-black  satin  ;  "your  daughter  is  attended  to — wor- 
ried— hurried  too  much — she  wants  rest — repose — Mrg. 
Armstrong;  she  wants  a  heart  and  mind  at  ease;  she 
wants  more  freedom  ;  she  is  afraid  to  stir  hand  or  foot ;  to 
apeak — to  think —  iofeel — lest  she  should  give  her  mother 
pain  or  displeasura." 

"That  is  her  religion,"  said  the  lady,  coolly.  "Mi«i 
Armstrong,  I  am  happy  to  say,  if  an  example  of  filial  pietj. 
I  repeat  it,  that  is  her  religion." 


50  THE     MOTHER-IN -HW. 

"  It  is  her  superstition." 

"  You  will  please  to  remember  jou  are  addressing  m^ 
Miss  O'Riley." 

"  And  it  is  in  full  consciousness  of  that,  that  I  say,  Mrs. 
Armstrong,  that  your  system  of  education  degrades,  de- 
bases, enslaves,  yes,  destroys  your  daughter ! — and  that  if 
it  be  continued,  in  two  years  from  this  Louise  will  be  an 
irreclaimable  idiot." 

"Yon  are  speaking  of  Miss  Armstrong,"  said  the  lady, 
white  with  anger,  but  speaking  steadily. 

"  I  know  it ;  and  I  repeat,  that  unless  a  different  course 
is  taken,  in  two  years  Miss  Armstrong,  of  Mont  Crystal, 
will  be  an  idiot  slave  !" 

Brighty's  eyes  were  blazing. 

A  long  pause  ensued.  It  was  broken  by  the  measured 
tones  of  Mrs.  Armstrong,  saying — 

"  I  am  surprised  that  Miss  O'Riley  leaves  me  the  pain  of 
•uggesting  to  her  the  propriety  of  retiring  from  my  presence  ; 
I  should  have  supposed  that,  after  her  polite  speech,  she 
would  at  least  have  had  the  good  taste  to  anticipate  me 
by  doing  so." 

Brighty  arose  and  stood  before  her  patron — 

"  Mrs.  Armstrong,  if  I  were  really  malicious,  as  well  aa 
high-spirited,  I  should  obey  you,  and  leave  the  room ;  yes, 
I  should  go  beyond  orders,  and  leave  the  house  ;  but  such 
is  not  the  case  ;  my  Irish  blood  takes  fire  very  quickly,  but 
it  is  a  blaze  of  shavings  ;  when  I  am  struck,  I  strike  back 
immediately,  and  then  forgive  my  antagonist ;  I  would  not 
forgive  on  any  other  terms ;  when  people  are  arrogant  to 
me,  I  am  capable  of  being  insulting  to  them  ;  and  yet,  Mrs. 
Armstrong,  I  would  not  be  so  to  yon  ;  I  respect  your  yean 
more  than  your  rank,  or — " 

She  was  about  to  inadvertently  add  "  your  character," 
but  she  bit  her  tongue  in  time. 

All  Uit  time  Mrs.  Armstrong  had  sat  op  erect,  cold,  and 


THE  MOTHER  AND  EAUGHTEB.    61 

•fiedt ;  neither  deigning  to  speak  or  look  at  the  bright  ear- 
nest girl  standing  before  her.  Britannia  continued — 

"  If  I  spoke  strongly,  Mrs.  Armstrong,  it  was  because  1 
felt  strongly ;  because  I  wished  to  rouse  your  attention  to 
a  subject  of  which  I  have  before  spoken,  with  more  modera- 
tion and  less  effect ;  because  I  think  that  if  many  parents 
fall  into  the  error  of  over  laxity,  a  few  make  the  opposite 
mistake  of  too  great  stringency;  because  you  make  me 
think  that  ladies  of  your  age  may  sometimes  forget  the 
days,  and  consequently  the  wants  of  their  own  youth,  and 
BO  be  unable  to  enter  into  and  understand  the  necessities  of 
their  children  ;  I  am  nearer  the  age  of  Louise,  and  have  a 
clearer  recollection  of  what  one's  little  necessities  are  at 
fifteen." 

"  Proceed,  Miss  O'Riley." 

"  I  should  say  that  Miss  Armstrong  requires  exercise, 
amusement,  excitement.  Young  girls  of  her  age  have 
usually  high  spirits.  She  is  congealing  into  apathy — inta 
death,  perhaps;  to  rouse  her,  she  requires  that  the  frozen 
springs  of  her  life-blood  be  thawed ;  let  her  mingle  freely 
with  those  of  her  own  age  and  sex,  at  least,  that  she  may 
feel  her  youth— a  little." 

"And  how  is  that  to  be  effected  if  I  may  inquire,  Misa 
O'Riley  ?  Oar  neighborhood  is  not  so  thickly  settled  with 
young  people — least  of  all  with  such  as  I  should  introduce 
to  Miss  Armstrong." 

"Still  there  are  some." 

"Who,  pray,  Miss  O'Riley?" 

"There  is  Susan  Scmerville." 

"A  young  lady  with  whom  I  would  never  permit  Mist 
Armstrong  to  becomo  intimate." 

"  May  I  ask  why  ?» 

"  Her  mother's  will  is  a  sufficient  reply,  Miss  O'Riley. 
I  am  not  called  upon  to  sit  in  judgment  npon  Miss  Soiner- 
nor  am  I  addicted  to  gratuitous  censoriousneu." 


62  TMl     MOTHIR-1N-LAW. 

"Then  there  is  Gertrude  Lien." 

"  The  '  Gerfalcon,'  as  she  is  called,  partly  from  ner  naa«, 
partly  from  her  nature ;  no,  she  has  earned  a  sobriquet  that 
at  once  excludes  her  from  Miss  Armstrong's  acquaintance." 

A  pause  followed,  broken,  as  before,  by  the  lady  of  th« 
house. 

"  Have  you  any  thing  further  to  suggest,  Miss  O'Riley  ?" 

Britannia  smiled  as  she  murmured — 

"There  is  Zoe." 

Here  the  lady  quickly  interrupted  her  with — 

"  Not  to  be  thought  of  for  a  moment  1     By  no  means." 

"Then  I  am  at  the  last  of  my  invention,  I  believe — stay! 
*s — there  is  a  dancing-school  about  to  be  established  at 
'  Prince  of  Wales.'  Why  not  send  Louise  there ;  it  will 
b«  an  amusement  for  her ;  they  will  have  practicing  quad- 
rilles twice  a  week  ;  I  will  attend  her  there  ?" 

"  No  doubt  of  it,"  dryly  remarked  the  lady,  "  but  Miss 
Armstrong's  mother  has  no  idea  of  mixing  her  up  with  these 
dances,  and  having  her  hand  sullied  by  the  contact  of  she 
knows  not  whom." 

"  Then  pack  her  up  in  a  nice  rosewood  coffin,  lined  with 
white  satin,  and  entomb  her  at  once,"  thought  Brighty,  but 
she  said  nothing. 

The  supper  bell  now  rang,  and  Mrs.  Armstrong  dispatch- 
ing a  servant  to  summon  her  daughter,  led  the  way  to  the 
supper-room. 

Louise  entered  the  supper-room,  pale  and  tearful,  and 
going  up  softly  to  her  mother's  side,  she  whispered  low — 

"  Dearest  mother,  pray  tel".  me  again  that  yon  forgive  me ; 
I  cannot  rest,  I  cannot  be  satisfied,  I  do  not  feel  as  if  you 
had  quite  forgiven  me." 

"  Do  not  whisper  in  company,  my  daughter  ;  and,  beyond 
all,  do  not  doubt  your  mother's  word.  She  has  told  you 
?hat  she  had  forgiven  your  indiscretion,  great  as  it  was; 
et  that  BuflL.se ;  co  tr  be  seated,"  said  the  lady,  coldly. 


fXB     JCOTEKB     AND     rAUOHTlK.         Ot 

Tortured  by  that  strange,  yet  net  impossible  incident) 
the  simultaneous  attraction  and  repulsion  that  only  the  yery 
utrong  can  exercise,  only  the  very  sensitive  feel,  namely,  the 
attraction  of  flesh  and  blood — the  repulsion  of  word  and 
manner — broken  between  her  wish  to  throw  herself  upon 
ner  mother's  bosom  and  the  fear  of  giving  displeasure, 
Lonise  "stiffling  the  mighty  hunger  of  the  heart,"  sank 
coldly,  dejectedly,  into  her  seat.  Strange  as  it  may  seem, 
this  coldness  in  repelling  and  repressing  did  but  deepen,  in- 
tensify, and  concentrate  her  filial  love ;  for  Louise  idolized 
her  handsome,  majestic  mother,  in  her  regal,  matron  beauty. 
She  craved  her  embrace  the  more  ardently,  that  she  seemed 
ever  on  the  verge,  yet  never  received  it.  She  went  to  sleep, 
the  dream  of  caressing  freely  the  beautiful  mother,  whose 
jewelled  finger  she  mighly  barely  raised  to  her  lips.  Louise 
was  sickening  of  a  starved  heart.  A  little  more  coldness,  a 
little  more  frost,  and  her  affections  would  have  been  killed. 
Mrs.  Armstrong  knew  exactly  how  far  to  go,  when  to  stop. 
Never  did  scheming  woman  manoeuvre  to  retain  her  lover's 
affections  with  more  art  than  did  this  lady  to  confirm  her 
influence  over  her  only  child.  Every  emotion,  and  with 
some  natures  every  affection,  is  wasted  in  proportion  to  ita 
manifestation.  Mrs.  Armstrong  understood  this  perfectly, 
and  according  gently  repelled  her  child.  "  My  daughter," 
was  pronounced  in  the  softest  key,  with  the  most  gentle  in- 
flection of  voice  and  with  a  look  of  tenderness,  exciting  a 
wish  for  the  embrace  that  was  never  yielded — a  want  that 
gnawed  deeper  for  being  repressed.  Women  instinctively 
understand  this  principle,  and  women  of  the  world  practice 
it ;  nnd  up  to  a  certain  degree — a  degree  to  be  calculated 
by  the  temperament  of  the  subject — they  repulse  the  advance! 
of  the  man  whose  affections  they  wish  ultimately  to  secure. 

It  is  strange  that  a  mother  should  have  acted  so  to  her 
only  child  ;  something  new  un  ler  the  sun — incomprehensi- 
ble— incredible,  if,  in  this  case,  it  were  not  known  to  be  a 
I 


54  TH«     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

feet  Upon  this  evening,  however,  Mrs.  Armstrong  watched 
her  daughter  with  some  anxiety ;  observed  that  beside  her 
paleness,  thinness,  tearfulness,  and  trembling,  she  scarcely 
tasted  food,  and  the  lady  resolved  to  take  some  immediate 
measures  for  the  restoration  of  her  health  and  cheerfulness. 
These  very  measures  conspired  to  form  the  crisis  of  her 
child's  destiny.  The  circumstance  which  had  given  BO  ranch 
offense  to  the  haughty  mistress  of  Mont  Crystal  and  drawn 
upon  the  head  of  Miss  O'Riley  such  a  severe  rebuke  was 
simply  this  :  one  day  Louis  had  crossed  the  river  in  the  little 
boat,  and,  ascending  the  stone  steps  that  led  up  the  bank, 
wandered  down  a  deep  forest  path,  into  a  shady  dell.  Sit- 
ting down  under  the  trees,  he  fell  into  a  reverie  that  wag 
broken  by  a  clear,  soft,  lute-like  voice,  saying,  near  him. 

"  Oh  !  Louis,  I  meet  you  at  last.  I  wanted  to  come  to 
you  so  much,  dear  Louis,  to  tell  you  how  I  suffer  with  yon 
. — how  I  sorrow  for  you  ;  but  my  mother  says  that  it  is  no 
longer  proper  for  us  to  visit  you  at  the  Isle,  now  that  there 
Is  nobody  to  receive  us.  But  you  know,  Louis,  do  you 
not,  that  I  wept  to  come  to  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  dear  Louise,  I  knew,  if  permitted,  you  would  hare 
come." 

"  You  know  it,"  said  she.  "  Well,  Louis,  now  I  only 
stopped  to  say  that,  and  bid  you  good  by  ;  for  mother 
would  not  like  my  stopping  here  to  talk,  and  I  must  not  do 
what  mother  does  not  think  right,  you  know." 

"  How,  Louise,  would  you  leave  me  so  soon,  long  as  it 
lias  been  since  I  have  had  the  happiness  of  seeing  you  ?" 
inquired  the  youth,  taking  her  hand  and  looking  depre- 
catingly  into  her  face.  She  drew  her  hand  half  out  gently, 
while  an  expression  of  perplexity  and  distress  traversed  her 
countenance.  "  Sit  down  upon  this  bank,  and  let  us  hare 
•  chat,  Louise." 

"  Oh,  no,  no !"  exclaimed  the  maiden,  now  ^uite  withdraw 


TBK     MOTHER     AND     DAUQHT1B.         5* 

ing  her  hand ;  "  mother  says  it  is  not  right,  mother  says  it  it 
•ot  proper — " 

"What 'is  not  right?  What  is  not  proper,  Louise? 
Tour  sitting  on  a  bank  and  talking  with  me  ?  Was  that 
it?" 

"  Oh,  no,  no  I  I  do  not  mean  that  mother  said  that,  but 
Ae  would  say  it  if  she  knew  it" 

"  Dear  Lonise  ! — me— -your  old  school-fellow  1" 

"  No,  not  you  particularly,  Louis,  but  any  one.  Mother 
says — " 

Here  an  expression  of  displeasure,  almost  amounting  to 
aversion,  crossed  the  countenance  of  the  young  man,  and 
arrested  the  speech  of  the  maiden. 

Presently  she  said — 

"  Do  not  be  displeased  with  me,  Louis ;  it  is  so  distres* 
ing  to  me,  dear  Louis." 

"  Displeased  with  you,  Louise  ?" 

"  Well,  with  my  mother,  then ;  for  it  is  equally  painfu. 
to  me,  Louis.  But  now,  indeed,  I  must  hasten  away.  Good 
evening,  Leuis.  Oh  I  you  can  come  over  to  see — mother 
goon,  can  you  not  ?" 

"Perhaps  so;  but  do  not  leave  me  yetl"  pleaded  tht 
youth,  still  holding  her  recovered  hand. 

"  Oh  1  Louis,  would  you  get  me  a  scolding  ?"  exclaimed 
the  trembling  child,  while  a  spasm  of  petulance  contracted 
her  delicately  beautiful  face. 

"  Certainly  not,  Louise,"  replied  the  young  man,  gravely 
dropping  her  hand. 

"  Miss  Armstrong,  your  mother  wants  you,"  said  a  voice 
through  the  trees ;  and  the  maiden,  starting,  trembling,  and 
growing  pale  exclaimed — 

"  I  am  missed  ;  mother  has  sent  Kate  after  me ;  good  by, 
dear  Louis,"  pressed  his  hand  hastily,  and  disappeared  in 
tb?  trees,  just  as  a  tall  mulatto  woman  emerged  from  then 
to  meet  her. 


66  TUB     M  0  T  H  £  R  •  I  X  -  L  A  W. 

With  a  very  sedate  brow,  Louis  Stuart-Gordon  retraced 
his  steps  to  the  water's  edge,  descended  the  stone  stairs, 
got  into  the  boat,  and  rowed  back  to  the  Isle. 

Louis  sauntered  abstractedly  towards  the  house,  and 
entered  it,  passing  in  at  the  central  door  under  the  piazza, 
and,  opening  another  door  on  his  left,  admitted  himself 
into  the  family  sitting-room. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE    OLD    WAINSCOTED     HALL. 

A  dre»my  aspect  doth  the  parlor  wear, 

Pictures  and  basts  and  books,  uot  flowers, 

But  a  warm  hearth  where  one  may  doze  for  hoars, 

Nor  note  the  minutes  in  their  lazy  flight, 

Nor  ever  think  to  count  them  as  tuey  go.—lfrt.  A.  31.  Wells. 

IT  was  a  room  some  twenty  feet  square,  with  two  Terr 
tall  windows  looking  out  upon  the  piazza,  and  commanding 
a  view  of  the  sloping  terrace  and  ornamented  groands  in 
front,  of  the  dividing  river  and  the  opposite  shore,  with  a 
stately  white  villa  crowning  the  hill,  (but  of  that  more 
anon.)  Now  turn  away  from  the  window,  and  look  within. 
The  dark  and  highly  varnished  oak-panelled  walls  gave  that 
substantial  and  finished  appearance — that  inexpressible  air 
of  tightness,  snugness,  warmth,  and  comfort,  that  nothing 
else  can  so  well  confer  upon  a  room.  These  wainsc<  ted 
walls  were  ornamented  by  numerous  fine,  large  engra^jiga 
in  massive  gilt  frames.  The  fireplace  stood,  as  I  saji  in 
the  corner.  It  had  a  very  tall,  straight  mantelpiece,  sur- 
mounted by  two  small  marble  images — Justice  and  Mercy. 
Justice  held  her  scales  down  in  one  hand,  and  held  a  socket 
tor  a  wax  ca  die  io  the  other  Mercy  held  the  olirt 


TH1     OLD     WAINSCOTED     HALL.          57 

branch  inverted  in  one  hand,  and  a  similar  socket  to  that 
under  the  charge  of  Justice  in  the  other.  Between  Justice 
and  Mercy  hnng  the  only  oil  painting  and  the  only  family 
portrait  in  the  room — presenting  the  sweet  face  of  Margaret 
Stuart-Gordon.  Two  tall  grenadier-like  andirons,  polished 
to  a  silvery  brightness,  supported  the  green  hickory  wood 
of  which  the  very  warm  fires  were  made.  The  rug  dis- 
played a  pattern  of  white  lilies  on  a  dark-green  ground. 
This  rug  was  soft  as  wool,  as  General  Stuart-Gordon's  pet 
cat  knew.  A  short,  deep,  murrey-colored  sofa  was  usually 
drawn  up  upon  one  side  of  this  hearth,  and  a  large  study- 
chair  on  the  other.  General  Stuart-Gordon  still  sat  upon 
the  old  studying-chair,  but  very  sadly  looked  the  vacant  sofa, 
now  that  the  gentle  woman  that  had  occupied  it  so  long 
was  missing  away  from  it.  Murrey-colored  curtains  hung 
at  the  windows.  Lastly,  two  doors  gave  exit  from  this 
snuggery — one  on  the  right  into  the  central  passage-way  ; 
one  on  the  left  into  the  vast  saloon  of  the  house,  furnished 
in  the  most  splendid  style,  but  never  opened  except  upon 
grand  occasions.  On  the  other  side  of  the  wide  central 
passage  were  the  more  strictly  housekeeping  offices,  still 
rooms,  &c.,  but  of  these  we  do  not  need  to  speak  now. 

Louis  Stuart-Gordon  entered  the  oak  parljr,  and  found 
his  father  sitting  dozing  in  his  study-chair  before  the  fire  ; 
the  cat  was  dozing  too,  as  she  purred  and  hummed  on  the  rug; 
and  the  green  hickory  wood  was  singing  a  tune  as  it  burned. 
A  pleasant,  dreamy  twilight  gloom  pervaded  the  .room. 
Justice  and  Mercy  were  not  yet  lighted  up,  and  the  sweet 
face  of  Margaret  Stuart-Gordon  was  lost  in  the  shadows. 

Louis  threw  himself  upon  his  mother's  vacant  sofa,  and 
eeemed  to  feel  that  he  was  nearer  to  her.  His  ge»tnr« 
traked  his  father  up  ;  who,  yawning,  said — 

"Ring  for  lights  and  tea,  Louis,  do;  though  it  is  rery 
lonesome — Oh-o-o"— (yawning)  "very! — drinking  tea,  you 
and  I  by  curselvss — tiresome ;  I  wish,  Louis,  yon  would 


58  I  H  K      *01HBK1MLAW. 

get  married  I— there,  ring,  do  I  One  can  eat  and  «leep,  if 
no  more  I" 

Lonis  pulled  the  bell-rope,  and  a  servant  replied  to  it ; 
and,  throwing  open  the  door,  announced  "Miss  Susan 
Somerville ;"  and  a  young  lady,  followed  by  a  matronly 
attendant,  entered  the  room.  Both  father  and  son  arose, 
General  Stuart-Gordon  advances  with  the  stately  courtesy 
of  a  Virginia  gentlen.^n  of  the  old  school,  and,  bowing 
gravely,  led  the  young  lady  to  the  sofa,  while  Louis,  after 
wheeling  it  closer  to  the  fire,  stood  until  she  was  seated. 
The  countenance  of  the  General  plainly,  though  courteously 
asked  the  question,  "  To  what  happy  circumstance  are  we 
indebted  for  Miss  Somerville's  visit  ?"  as  he  resumed  his 
seat  in  the  study-chair,  while  a  servant  lighted  the  wax  can- 
dles in  the  charge  of  Mercy  and  Justice.  It  was  beautifiu 
to  observe  the  contrast  afforded  by  this  girl's  sweet  calm, 
simple  air,  to  the  ceremonious  manners  of  the  old  General. 
Taking  her  time  in  drawing  off  her  gloves  and  removing 
her  bonnet  without  an  invitation  to  do  so,  she  called  her 
attendant,  and,  placing  them  in  her  charge,  said  sweetly,  in 
her  clear,  pleasant  voice — 

"  I  have  ?ome  over  only  to  make  tea  for  you  and  Lonis, 
General,  becanse  grandfather  has  gone  to  Alexandria,  and 
I  am  not  wanted  at  home.  Grandfather  will  stay  a  week  at 
Alexandria,  and  I  can  come  over  and  make  tea  for  you 
every  evening,  if  you  would  like  it.  I  asked  grandfather'* 
leave  before  he  went  away,  and  he  gave  it  to  me,  as  you 
might  know  he  would,  for  dear  grandfather  never  hindered 
me  from  doing  any  thing  I  liked,  in  my  life." 

She  spoke  slowly,  quietly,  as  she  divested  herself  of  her 
riding  habit,  and  handing  that  also  to  her  companion, 
reseated  herself  upon  the  sofa. 

"  We  are  penetrated  deeply  by  your  goodness,  dear  Misi 
Bomemlie,"  said  the  General,  while  the  beautiful,  loft  eyei 
of  Looif  wailed  hi*  thank* 


THB     OLD     WAINSCOTED    HALL.          59 

I  wish  I  could  give  you  any  sort  of  a  just  idea  of  Susan 
Somerville.  It  were  sacrilege  to  draw  her  portrait,  and  not 
to  draw  it  correctly.  She  was  a  medium-sized  girl — fall- 
even  very  fall  formed — with  the  well-developed  bust,  round 
chin  and  cheeks,  and  full,  sweet  lips,  that  indicate  a  fine 
vital  temperament ;  her  complexion  was  very  fair,  her  eyes 
large,  dark,  and  calm,  and  her  hair  black  and  silky,  and 
rippling  in  tiny  wavelets  over  her  head.  She  wore  it  care- 
lessly, but  partly  twisted  up  behind,  partly  drooping  down 
her  plump  white  cheeks  and  throat.  Her  dress  of  dark 
Btuff  was  neatness  itself;  but  her  air — her  air — there,  thai 
was  magic !  She  looked  like  one  that  calmly  and  deeply 
enjoyed  her  life  in  every  vein.  Wisdom  and  innocence  re- 
posed in  her  serene  face.  Her  manner  was  full  of  grave, 
sweet  comfort.  She  influenced  you  like  a  sedative.  It  was 
impossible  to  be  in  her  company,  to  look  on  her  heavenly — 
no,  not  heavenly,  for  there  was  a  great  deal  of  earth  about 
it,  but  her  dear,  good  face,  without  growing  serene  and 
quietly  happy  like  herself.  The  most  beneficial  mesmeric 
influence  emanated  from  the  presence  of  Susan  Somerville. 
Hers  was  a  face  in  which  you  could  place  confidence,  for 
you  felt  that  beneath  all  this  quietude  reposed  great  force 
of  character ;  nay,  that  the  very  consciousness  of  that  power 
produced  this  beautiful  and  profound  calm — the  calm  of  a 
self-dependent,  self-poised  nature,  reposing  sublimely  on  its 
own  great  strength.  She  was  really  seventeen,  but  she 
looked  twenty.  While  yot  have  been  reading  this  descrip- 
tion of  her,  she  has  quietly  taken  out  her  knitting,  and,  to 
make  herself  more  at  houe,  gone  to  work  at  it,  talking 
sweetly  all  the  time  the  servant  was  laying  the  cloth  and 
getting  the  table.  It  was  just  impossible  for  General  Stu- 
art-Gordon to  go  on  with  his  Chesterfieldean  manner — call- 
ing her  "  Miss  Somerville,"  indeed,  he  never  remembered 
to  do  it  after  first  greeting  her ;  and  as  for  Louis,  he  never 
had  addressed  her  by  any  other  name  than  "  Susan."  Hi 


60  THI     MOTHER!  N    LAW. 

had  called  her  Susan  in  their  school-days,  and  DO  »«w  of 
etiquette  ever  promulgated  could  make  him  call  her  any- 
thing else.  What  an  air  of  home  and  coziuess  her  very 
presence  diffused  over  that  late  lonely  fireside.  It  seemed 
good  to  have  her  plying  her  bright  knitting-needles,  sealed 
01.  the  sofa ;  and  when  the  tea-urn  was  set  upon  the  table, 
it  seemed  natural  for  General  Stuart-Gordon  (what  a  tire- 
•ome  name  to  write  \)  to  say — 

"  Come,  Susan,  my  love,"  and  lead  her  to  the  table. 

Let  no  manoeuvring  mamma  or  match-seeking  daughter 
imagine  that  in  Susan  Somerville's  conduct  there  was  a 
single  covert  selfish  thought.  I  affirm  that  it  never  occurred 
to  her,  that  the  old  man  of  sixty,  or  the  youth  not  yet 
eighteen,  "  were  in  the  market."  No,  it  was  simply  Susan 
Somerville's  religion,  to  minister,  in  every  possible  way,  to 
the  comfort  of  those  in  her  reach,  perhaps  with  too  little 
thought  or  care  of  self. 

Tea  was  over.  The  evening  passed  cheerfully,  delight- 
fully. General  Stuart  Gordon  related  numerous  anecdotes 
connected  with  the  revolutionary  war.  Louis  read  an 
extract  from  one  of  Walter  Scott's  novels,  and  Susan 
chatted,  or  listened,  while  plying  her  knitting-needles.  At 
nine  o'clock  she  arose  to  go ;  and,  attended  by  her  matronly 
servant  and  by  the  man  who  waited  on  them  both,  she  pre- 
pared to  set  out. 

"And  will  you  come  and  make  tea  for  us  to-morrow, 
Busan,  my  dear  ?"  very  nervously  inquired  the  old  gentle- 
man 

"  Oh,  yes,  indeed  !  to  be  sure  I  will — every  evening  until 
grandfather  returns,  for  I  am  sure  if  I  was  to  die  I  should 
not  be  happy  in  Heaven,  if  I  did  not  know  that  soae  kind 
girl  came  and  poured  out  his  coffee,  sometimes." 

"  That  is  a  good  girl !  Louis  and  myself  have  dozed 
and  nodded  at  each  other  all  the  evenings  of  this  month 
put,  until  to-night,  when  you  woke  us  up  j  and  now  wt 


THECBAGS  61 

will  not  doze  or  sleep  any  mere  over  the  fire  for  a  week," 
said  he,  as  he  walked  with  Susan  down  the  terrace,  acroai 
the  lawn,  and  the  stone  steps,  to  the  water's  edge,  to  the 
little  skiff,  and  with  affectionate  care  placed  her  in  it,  and 
itood  watching  its  progress  across  the  river,  until  it  stopped 
at  the  beach,  and  he  saw  her  get  out,  and,  with  her  attend- 
ant, climb  up  the  bluff,  and  disappear. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

THE    CRAGS. 

That  dear  old  home ! 
Something  of  old  ancestral  pride  it  keeps, 
Thonsjh  fallen  from  its  early  power  and  vastnessl 
The  sunlight  seems  to  thy  eyes  brighter  there 
Than  wheresoever  else. — Fanny  Eemble. 

REMEMBER  the  position  of  the  Isle  of  Rays,  the  sunnj 
centre  of  our  neighborhood  and  story.  Remember  that  the 
Isle  was  divided  through  the  middle  by  a  sparkling  creek, 
and  that  the  southern  division  of  the  Isle  before  and  beneath 
the  front  of  the  house  was  cleared  up  and  laid  off  in  beau- 
tiful terraces,  conservatories,  parterres,  groves,  fountains, 
serpentine  walks,  etc.,  and  that  fronting  this  greatly  orna- 
mented southern  division,  across  the  river,  lay  the  irnmengfl 
estate,  and,  surmounting  a  hill,  stood  the  splendid  mansion 
of  Mont  Crystal.  Very  well — now  turn  to  the  northern 
division  of  the  Isle — the  division  lying  back  of  the  house, 
and  still  left  in  all  the  wild  and  luxuriant  beauty  of  nature 
It  was  thickly  wooded,  full  of  rocks,  and  intersected  by 
several  narrow  paths — one  of  which  conducted  to  a  Sight 
of  rough  stone-steps,  cut  in  the  side  of  the  rocks,  that  led 
to  the  clean,  sandy  beach  where  a  boat  was  always  moored 


62  TEX     MOTHEB-IN-L  AW. 

for  the  convenience  of  communication  with  the  northern 
shore  of  the  river.  This  northern  bank  of  the  river  was 
very  different  from  the  beautifully  fertile  southern  shore,  the 
seat  of  the  Mont  Crystal  estate.  The  northern  bank  was 
wild,  rocky,  and  picturesque  beyons.  description,  and,  a  lit- 
tle further  up  and  back  from  the  river,  even  sublime  and 
terrific.  This  locality  also  comprised  an  estate  that  joined 
the  Island  Estate  at  its  northwestern  boundary.  It  was 
called  The  Crags,  and  formed  the  remnant,  the  wreck  of  a 
vast  property,  once  owned  by  the  Somervilles,  an  old  and 
haughty  Virginia  family,  now  fallen  from  their  "  great 
estate."  A  flight  of  stone  steps,  cut  in  the  rocky  bank  of 
the  river,  nearly  opposite  the  Isle,  conducted  the  traveler 
to  the  mainland,  and,  through  a  gate,  to  a  narrow  path 
leading  now  up  a  steep,  craggy  declivity,  now  down  a  rocky 
dell,  now  through  a  thick  copse,  now  into  the  deep,  rich 
shades  of  the  forest,  among  the  gorgeous  foliage  of  the  trees 
in  their  splendid  autumn  dresses — the  glowing  scarlet  of 
the  oak,  the  brilliant  yellow  hickory,  the  bright  green  pine 
and  cedar,  and  the  rich  purple  dogwood — to  a  high  range 
of  rocky  and  wooded  hills,  among  which  stood  the  irregular 
pile  of  buildings  called,  after  the  estate  to  which  it  belonged, 
The  Crags.  This  was  the  retreat  of  old  Major  Somerville 
and  his  grandchild  Susan — the  unconventional  little  visitor 
of  the  Isle  of  Rays.  Major  Somerville  had  lived  to  see  hia 
patrimony  melt  away,  acre  by  acre,  under  the  miserable 
system  of  old-fashioned  Virginia  agriculture  that  he  still 
persisted  in,  and  that  I  have  elsewhere  described,  until 
nothing  remained,  except  the  rocks  aud  stunted  copse-wood 
immediately  around  the  rough-cast  homestead ;  and  to  see 
his  family,  one  by  one,  die  off,  until  none  were  left  bnt 
Susan,  the  only  child  of  his  deceased  youngest  son.  She 
was,  indeed,  the  angel  of  his  o'd  age.  Susan's  father  had 
been  the  youngest  of  eight  children,  and  had  married  late 
ia  life,  so  that  the  old  nwn,  her  grandfather,  was  seventy 


THE     CRAGS.  IS 

of  age  wten  Snsan  was  born,  and  was  consequently 
eighty-seven,  as  Susaii  was  seventeen  at  the  present  time. 
By  the  death  of  both  her  parents  before  she  had  attainted 
her  fifth  year,  Susan  was  left  in  the  sole  charge  of  the  old 
man  of  seveiity-h'ye.  Major  SonierviJle  had  no  female  rela- 
tive or  even  housekeeper  in  his  family.  His  domestic  affaira 
were  conducted  by  a  skillful  and  industrous  young  mulatto 
woman,  a  faithful  slave,  who  was  the  cook,  housemaid, 
nurse,  and  seamstress — in  fact,  maid  of  all  work,  as  hei 
husband  was  steward,  gardener,  coachman,  and  groom — in 
short,  factotum  in  general  to  the  household.  This  faithful 
couple  loved  their  decaying  old  master  as  though  he  had 
been  their  own  father ;  and,  coupled  with  this  love  was  a 
veneration  inexplicable  as  matchless  to  those  who,  never 
fcaving  lived  in  the  South,  had  never  had  an  opportunity  of 
witnessing  the  superstition,  the  self-immolating  devotion  of 
some  slaves  to  their  masters  and  their  masters'  families — a 
consecration  of  self  that  is  paralleled  in  ardor,  and  earnest- 
ness, only  by  a  woman's  devotion  to  a  tyrannical  husband, 
or  a  Pagan's  devotion  to  his  idol,  and  that  is  paralleled  in 
disinterestedness  by — nothing  1 

It  was  beautiful  to  observe  the  solicitous  forethought  by 
which  this  excellent  couple  averted  the  annoyance  of  debts 
and  duns  from  the  old  man's  door  by  a  thousand  little  con- 
trivances and  economies,  and  by  appropriating  silently 
their  own  little  earnings  of  the  odd  hours  of  their  own 
time.  "  Old  master's"  tranquillity  and  respectability  waa 
the  one  thing  needful  to  their  happiness,  and  next  in  im- 
portance to  this,  Miss  Susie's  interests  took  rank.  Much 
contrivance  is  required  to  confer  upon  Miss  Susie  the  ap- 
pearance and  throw  around  her  the  prestige  of  little  lady- 
hood— in  a  word,  to  dress  her  neatly  and  to  send  her  to 
icbool.  This  was  the  way  in  which  it  was  done,  and  thii 
was  the  manner  in  which  the  happy  illusion  of  moderate 
eempeteuey  wag  thrown  around  the  old  nun. 


64  TEE     M  O  I  II  E  B  -  1  X  -  L  A  W. 

After  passing  his  seventy-fifth  year,  old  Major  Somerrilk 
WAS  more  inclined  to  doze  in  his  arm-chair  than  to  look 
into  his  accounts.  His  narrow  income  was  derived  from 
the  Bale  of  his  small  yearly  crop,  the  proceeds  of  which  was 
locked  up  in  his  bureau,  divided  into  twelve  equal  portions, 
and  given  out  once  a  month  to  George,  who,  in  his  charac- 
ter of  steward,  conducted  the  financial  affairs  of  the 
household.  Now,  this  sum  was  not  much  over  half  what 
was  required  for  the  monthly  support  of  the  family ; 
and  the  alternative  was  to  contract  debt  or  to  raise  money. 
All  slaves  have  certain  hours  in  the  twenty-four,  called 
their  own  time,  iu  which  they  may  sleep,  eat,  or  work, 
within  the  limits  of  certain  time  and  space.  These  hours 
&  few  have  been  known  to  turn  to  so  good  account  as  to 
make  money  enough  to  purchase  their  freedom.  This  good 
couple  devoted  a  portion  of  these  hours  to  hard  work — the 
manufacture  of  baskets,  straw  hats,  mats,  &c.,  all  formed  of 
coarse  grass  gathered  iu  a  distant  marsh,  brought  home, 
and  dried,  cot,  and  twisted,  and  made  up  into  various  arti- 
cles of  domestic  utility,  which  were  afterwards  sold  in  the 
neighboring  villages.  And,  listen !  the  proceeds  of  these 
sales,  that  might  have  been  put  by  to  accumulate,  for  the  pur- 
chase of  their  own  freedom  at  some  future  day,  were  devoted 
— one  half  to  the  support  of  their  "  old  master"  and  "  Miss 
Sosie,"  and  the  other  half  saved  to  buy  the  liberty  of  tbeir 
only  child,  a  little  daughter  near  the  age  of  Miss  S'zsie, 
whose  li^le  maid  she  was.  Never  was  a  mor°  eTectionate 
or  considerate  little  mistress  than  Miss  Susie  F.nd  never 
was  a  more  devoted  little  maid  than  Annie  ;  yet  never  for  a 
moment  were  their  relative  positions  forgotten  by  either, 
although  with  the  feudal,  the  patriarchal  usage  of  old  Vir- 
ginian families,  where  the  children  of  the  slave  mingle  freely 
with  the  children  of  the  master — these  two  little  girls  were 
always  together.  But,  on  Miss  Susie's  part,  there  was  that 
ntreditary  pri  ie  of  famil  -,  the  natural  pride  c*  place.  bh« 


THE     CSAGS.  65 

was  born  with  it ;  it  was  i.i  her  blood  ;  it  was  in  herbonet. 
It  had  been  nursed — gently  nursed,  however — from  earliest 
babyhood  by  all  the  family,  and  by  every  circumstance 
around  her.  It  was  a  large,  generous,  noble  pride— a 
quiet,  gentle  pride,  however — and  only  manifested  itself  in 
a  tender,  protective  consideration  for  those  she  supposed 
beneath  her.  This  was  external  pride,  if  one  may  call  it  so, 
or  the  pride  produced  and  fostered  by  external  circum- 
stances ;  but  deep  in  Susan's  bosom  reposed  a  profounder 
pride — the  pride  of  a  great  and  essentially  good  nature, 
left  untrammelled  by  restraint,  as  unwarped  by  prejudice — 
unfettered  by  attempts  at  either. 

Miss  Susie  was  growing  up,  free,  strong,  and  indepen- 
dent, in  a  soil  of  genial  affection  and  respect.  Perhapg 
this  sort  of  rejariug  would  not  have  suited  every  child  as 
well  as  it  did  Susan's  fine,  deep-toned  nature ;  at  all  events, 
it  harmonized  beautifully  with  her.  And,  on  Annie's  part, 
her  love  for  her  little  mistress  was  her  religion.  She  had 
been  taught  by  her  parents,  with  their  simple  faith  in  re- 
ceived opinions,  to  look  up  to  Miss  Susie  as  to  a  little 
queen,  a  little  demi-goddess,  a  little  white  angel — in  a  word, 
whom — whom  it  was  piety  to  worship  ;  and  Annie  thought 
her  thoughts,  and  dreamed  her  dreams,  and  prayed  her 
prayers,  and  saw  her  visions,  through  Miss  Susie  accord- 
ingly. But  when  it  was  necessary  to  send  Miss  Susie  to 
school,  because  she  was  white,  and  a  young  lady,  and  Miss 
Somerville — oh !  then  there  were  heart-breaking  jmes  for 
Annie — not  because  George  and  his  wife  had  to  take  away 
another  quarter  of  their  earnings — being  the  half  of  An- 
nie's freedom  money — for  Annie  was  too  young  to  know 
anything  about  that,  and  far  too  disinterested  to  care  ;  but 
because  for  six  hours  a  day  she  should  be  separated  from 
her  little  patron  saint — the  little  Virgin  of  her  loving  wor- 
ship— Miss  Susie  !  Couldn't  she  go  with  Miss  Susie,  and 
tarry  bw  hvjjet  of  dinner  and  her  atlas  ? — for  of  ooum 


66  THB     MOTH1B-IN-LAW. 

the  yonng  lady  would  not  carry  her  own  basket  and  atlas—. 
of  coarse  not ;  but  then  Miss  Susie  was  to  ride  the  rough- 
coated  pony  over  the  rocks,  and  George  was  to  lead  it  and 
carry  her  things.  Annie  slept  in  Miss  Somerville's  cham- 
ber, on  a  pallet  by  her  bed.  Annie  cried  all  Sunday  night, 
because  her  little  mistress  was  going  to  school  on  Monday 
morning.  Miss  Susie  would  not  sleep  while  she  heard 
Annie's  smothered  sobbing  under  the  quilts.  "  Say  your 
prayers,  Annie,  and  go  to  sleep,"  recommended  Miss  Susie 
But,  at  the  sound  of  her  voice,  Annie  only  wept  the  more, 
bursting  from  a  low  sob  into  a  loud  wail,  a  perfect  roar  of 
lamentations.  Schoolmasters,  she  said,  were  ugly  and  hor- 
rid— were  perfect  bugaboos  with  big  ferules — were  ogres — 
were  giants — were  ghouls  and  gnomes — just  nucli  as  Misa 
Susie  heard  about  in  the  ghost  stones.  Susan  stepped  out 
of  bed,  and  sitting  down  by  her  side,  tried  to  soothe  her — 
in  vain  !  Every  manifestation  of  kindness  from  Miss  Susie 
added  fuel  to  flames,  or,  to  say  something  new,  water 
to  the  cataract  of  her  grief.  At  last  Miss  Susie  recollected 
that  she  herself,  she  also,  had  a  will  and  an  inclination  of 
her  own  in  this  affair,  and  she  felt  that  very  certainly  her 
inclination  sat  in  favor  of  taking  Annie  to  school.  So  Miss 
Susie  very  quietly  and  very  peremptorily  decided.  She 
bade  Annie  hush  crying,  and  say  her  prayers,  and  go  to 
sleep,  for  that  she  shou  i  go  to  school  with  her  the  next 
day.  Yes,  she  should  go  and  carry  her  basket ;  the  weather 
was  warm,  and  she  could  play  out  doors  under  the  shade  of 
the  trees,  while  she  herself  was  studying  in  the  school-room; 
and  when  it  blew  up  cold,  or  came  on  to  rain,  she  should 
come  in  and  sit  on  a  low  stool  by  her  desk ;  and,  as  for  the 
•choolmaster,  of  course  he  woul  1  consent  to  the  plan,  for, 
was  she  not  Miss  Somerville,  grand-daughter  of  Major 
Somerrille  of  The  Crags,  and  would  he  think  of  denying 
hirf  No! 
The  little  queen  had  no  idea  thai  the  was  of  a  whit  lew 


THS    ORAftft.  <T 

Importance  anywhere  else  than  she  was  within  the  confine* 
of  her  own  domain.  Early  in  the  morning  sne  proposed 
her  plan,  declaring  that  she  preferred  to  walk  to  schoo^ 
with  only  Annie  to  carry  her  Batchel.  After  some  consul- 
tation and  delay,  this  plan  was  agreed  upon,  and  the  little 
maid  was  rendered  happy  in  the  novelties  and  pleasantries 
of  trudging  by  the  side  of  her  little  mistress  over  the  rocks 
Mid  crags,  and  through  the  copses,  to  school.  The  country 
schoolmaster  was  no  ogre,  but  a  mild,  patient,  long-suffer- 
ing, and  self-devoted  soul,  as  nine-tenths  of  all  the  teachers 
I  ever  saw  are.  He  permitted  Miss  Somerville's  little 
attendant  first  to  sit  upon  the  door-steps,  and  afterward, 
when  he  found  how  quiet,  gentle,  and  humble  she  was,  ho 
sent  for  a  little  stool,  and  allowed  her  to  sit  upon  it  at  the 
feet  of  her  little  mistress,  where  her  position  was  understood 
aim  unquestioned,  by  the  other  pupils.  It  is  a  singular 
fact,  in  the  experience  of  all  teachers,  that  frequently  a 
child  will  not,  or  cannot,  learn  the  task  assigned,  but  will 
catch  by  ear,  or  intuition,  the  lesson  delivered  verbally  to 
an  older  and  farther  advanced  class. 

Thus  a  child  too  lazy  to  learn  to  read,  catches  by  ear  the 
lectures  to  a  class,  and  thereby  attains  considerable  know- 
ledge cf  geography,  or  any  other  branch  of  education  that 
may  strike  his  fancy.  Little  Annie  sat  at  Miss  Susie's  feet 
with  no  dull,  stultifying  column  of  words  to  learn,  but  with 
her  little  sharp  eyes  and  quick  ears  at  liberty  to  catch  any 
•eeda  of  knowledge  that  might  fall  in  her  direction.  And, 
with  human  perverseneea,  and  child-like  contrariness,  sht 
learned  all  the  quicker  and  more  because  she  was  not  de- 
•ired  or  required  to  learn.  And,  daring  their  walks  home, 
Annie  would  unroll  her  bundle  of  acquired  knowledge,  and 
diiplay  the  treasures  to  Miss  Susie's  admiration. 

"I  know  the  shape  of  the  earth,  Misi  Susie,"  she  would 
•ar,  railing  her  fine,  black  eye*  to  to*  fret  of  the  little  lady; 


66  THB     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

and  then  would  follow  a  precise  report  of  the  geographical 
lecture  of  the  morning. 

"Guess  who  discovered  America,  Miss  Susie." 

"  Oh,  Christopher  Columbus,  to  be  sure  I" 

"Yes!  Oh,  warn't  he  a  hero!  Don't  it  make  your 
heart  swell  up  big  to  hear  about  him,  Miss  Susie  ?"  the 
glance  of  her  superb  eye  bounding  up  to  the  countenance 
of  her  young  mistress. 

Susie  would  always  acquiesce  earnestly,  but  calmly,  as  if 
great  heroes  and  grand  thoughts  were  familiar  enough  to 
her  mind,  causing  no  surprise. 

But  it  was  history  that  brought  out  all  the  finest  points 
in  little  Annie's  heart — that  roused  all  the  enthusiasm  of  her 
genius. 

One  evening,  when  they  had  been  to  school  about  two 
years,  as  they  were  returning  home,  Annie  walked  silently, 
solemnly,  with  her  hands  clasped  upon  her  bosom,  and  her 
eyes  cast  down,  in  the  involuntary  and  unconscious  attitude 
of  prayer. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Annie  ?"  inquired  Miss  Susie. 

"Sir  William  Wallace!  oh,  Sir  William  Wallace!"  and 
then  she  suddenly  burst  into  tears. 

She  alluded  to  a  chapter  in  the  history  of  England,  com- 
prising the  reign  of  Edward  I.,  that  she  had  heard  read  in 
school  that  afternoon. 

"  So  great,  so  good,  so  glorious,  and  to  die  each  a 
death  1" 

"But,  Annie,  it  was  a  long  time  ago  ;  and  now  he  is  » 
prince  in  glory,  crowned  with  stars.  You  mast  not  ory 
about  him." 

"  Ah,  but  it  reads  as  though  it  had  just  happened  I" 

"  Ah,  but  you  see  it  has  not,  and  could  not  just  happen ; 
people  do  not  do  such  things  nowadays,  particularly  in  oar 
country,  our  free  country,  you  know." 

"  Jet,  I  knor ;  bat  still,  Miss  Susie J1 


ITUABT-GORDON'S"OWN    MAX."      69 

"Wellf" 

"Will  you  tcacl:  rat  to  read  now?  I  did  not  care  to 
learn  before,  but  now  I  wish  to  learn,  so  that  I  can  read 
more  about  Sir  William  Wallace.  I  kneel  down  arid 
worship  him." 

"Yes,  indeed,  I  will  be  very  glad  to  teach  you,  ai<d  yea 
will  read  of  many  like  Sir  William  Wallace  ;  but  you  must 
not  grieve  for  them, — they  are  archangels  now." 

A  seed  of  knowledge  had  fallen  on  good  ground,  and 
was  producing  fruit.  A  spark  of  fire  had  dropped  into  an 
ardent  heart,  kindling  the  soul  of  a  poor  slave-child  into 
enthusiasm  and  power. 

Can  I  portray,  justly,  the  gradations  by  which  thia 
child's  intellect  ascended  ?  Can  I  presume  to  describe  the 
Blow,  beautiful,  and  sublime  unfolding  of  her  high  soul,  aa 
she  advanced  towards  womanhood  ?  No, — I  will  not  even 
attempt  it ;  but  leave  to  the  progress  of  our  story  to  re- 
veal the  strange  anomaly  of  a  poor  slave-girl  blessed  (or 
cursed  ?)  with  lofty  intellect,  profound  affection,  and  high 
aspirations. 


CHAPTER  VI 11. 

GENERAL   8T  U  ART-  Q  ORDON '  8   "OWN   MAN." 

M«  bas  a  shrewd  wit,  I  can  tell  yon ;  and  he  is  a  good  man  enough  ;  he's  on*  it 
tk«  soundest  judgments,  and  a  prcper  man  of  person. — Troilu*  and  Grartda. 

Doe*  he  not  hold  np  his  head,  as  it  were,  and  strut  in  his  gait?—  Tuxl/th  ffiykt, 

UPON  the  morning  succeeding  Susan  Soinervillc's  first 

Tisit  to  the  Isle  of  Rays,  General  Stuart-Gordon  and  hii 

ion  met  in  the  oak  parlor,  at  an  unusually  early  breakfast. 

Apollo  Be'videre,  the  General's  body-servant,  ai  a  gentl*> 

4 


70  THE     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

mau'g  valet  de  chambre  \s  callea  in  the  South,  was  in  at- 
tendance  with  his  old  master's  outer  garment ;  for  the  gen- 
tlemen of  the  Isle  of  Rays  were  already  falling  into  slovenly 
bachelor  habits,  converting  parlors  into  dressing-rooms  and 
vice  versa.  Apollo  Belvidere  needs  a  description,  even  for 
those  who  have  seen  the  celebrated  statue  of  the  god  of 
poetry,  music,  and  beauty,  who  was  not  his  antitype  as 
well  as  bis  namesake.  Apollo  had  been  "old  master's" 
man  ever  since  both  were  boys,  had  attended  him  in  camp, 
or,  to  use  his  own  phrase,  "had  gone  with  him  to  the 
wars;"  had  cleaned  his  arms,  brushed  his  uniform,  and 
blacked  his  boots  during  the  whole  Revolutionary  strug- 
gle ;  had  retired  refulgent  with  the  martial  glory  that 
blazed  around  the  young  hero,  and  was  now  reposing  with 
him  on  his  laurels.  What  feats  !  what  miracles  of  military 
prowess  had  his  master,  General  Stuart-Gordon,  accom 
plished  1  What  folios,  what  tomes,  what  libraries  would 
the  history  of  his  exploits  fill,  as  related  by  his  biographer 
Apollo,  of  evenings,  at  the  side  of  the  great  kitchen  fire, 
to  the  assembled  admiring  and  astonished  household  !  On 
comparing  Apollo's  accounts  of  his  master's  slain,  crippled, 
or  "captivated,"  with  the  army  reports  of  the  killed, 
wounded,  or  captured,  one  would  be  forced  to  decide  that 
Apollo  told  lies,  (I  beg  pardon — "elevated  the  real  into 
the  ideal")  or  that  no  one  else  had  shed  blood  in  the  cause 
of  liberty.  Aporlo  admired  his  master  with  all  his  soul, 
and  imitated  him  with  all  his  might.  When  Captain 
Henry  Cartwright  first  married  the  heiress  and  assumed 
the  name  of  the  Stuart-Gordons,  and  took  up  his  residence 
at  the  Isle  of  Rays,  Apollo's  pride  in  his  master  and  glory 
In  the  great  alliance  was  somewhat  dimmed  by  the  haught- 
ily-imposed condition,  that  deprived  the  young  bridegroom 
of  his  patronymic,  ilhstrious,  as  he  considered  it,  with  mil- 
itary glory. 

Family  pride  in  America  is,  with  rare  exceptions,  to  bt 


ftTUABT    GOBDON    S     "OWN     HAV.          tl 

found  only  in  Maryland  and  Virginia,  where  it  character- 
izes the  descendants  of  the  high  churchmen,  the  Catholics, 
and  the  cavaliers,  who  settled  these  States, — or  among  the 
rery  few  families  that,  emigrating  thence,  have  settled  in  the 
Carolinas  and  the  distant  Southern  States.  In  the  far 
South,  as  in  the  North  and  the  West,  there  is  the  pride  of 
wealth,  in  Maryland  and  Virginia,  only  the  pride  of  birth. 
And  this  tacit  assertion  of  family  dignity  is  as  emphatic 
in  old  Maryland  and  Virginian  tobacco  planters  as  the  same 
thing  in  an  Irish  baronet  or  a  "Heeghland  laird."  And  it 
extends  from  the  head  of  the  house  to  the  poorest  old  slave 
bred  on  the  plantation.  Just  as  in  Scotland  and  Ireland, 
peasantry  and  clansmen  fight  about  the  relative  dignity  of 
their  lords  and  chiefs,  so  in  Maryland  and  Virginia,  the  old 
family  servants  dispute  about  the  comparative  antiquity  and 
respectability  of  their  masters'  families. 

So  it  was  a  grievous  mortification,  as  you  may  judge,  to 
Apollo  Belvidere,  when  his  master,  abjuring  his  patronymic, 
assumed  the  name  of  Stuart-Gordon.  It  was  in  a  state  of 
deep  distress,  between  his  pride  and  his  humiliation,  that, 
on  the  morning  after  the  wedding,  in  emerging  from  the 
dressing-room  of  his  master,  at  whose  toilet  he  had  just 
been  assisting,  Apollo  Belvidere  encountered  Seraphina, 
the  dressing-maid  of  the  bride.  It  was  the  first  time  that 
the  Apollo  had  seen  "  that  Wenus  carbed  in  jet,"  as  he 
afterwards  called  her.  Apollo  made  a  magnificent  bow — 
just  such  a  one  as  he  had  seen  his  master  make  on  entering 
a  ball-room  ;  Seraphina  curtsied — just  as  Miss  Stuart- 
Gordon  did  on  receiving  a  visitor;  and  then  presumed  that 
she  had  the  honor  of  speaking  to  Mr.  Apollo,  Captain 
Stuart-Gordon's  gentleman,  and  hoped  that  he  would  follow 
her  in  to  breakfast,  which  was  then  ready  in  the  front 
kitchen.  Mr.  Apollo  winced ;  but,  drawing  himself  up, 
thought  that  Miss  Seraphina  was  under  a  "  collusion  ;"  he 
had  n»  the  honor  of  an  acquaintance  with  Captain  Stuart- 


72  1HE     MOTHEBIN-LAW. 

Gordon,  whom,  he  supposed,  was  the  brother  of  tha  new 
Mrs.  Cartivright,  he  said,  as  he  accompanied  her  to  the 
breakfast-table.  Then  Miss  Seraphina,  believing  his  as- 
sumed ignorance  real,  explained  the  conditions  of  the  mar- 
riage, lu  reply  to  this,  Mr.  Apollo  courteously  insinuated 
that  there  must  still  be  some  mistake  ;  that  such  an  arrange- 
meat  would  be  "converting  all  the  substituted  usages  of 
society  into  miscord."  Miss  Seraphina  expounded,  with 
Borne  hauteur,  too  1  that  it  was  a  custom  of  the  Stuart- 
Gordons,  whenever  an  heiress  of  the  house  was  given  in 
marriage,  to  exact  of  the  bridegroom  the  assumption  of  the 
family  name  ;  that  this  was  very  proper,  for  that  they  were 
descended  from  the  royal  Stuarts  of  Scotland ;  whereas 
Captain  Cartwright,  now  Captain  Stuart-Gordon,  was  of  a 
comparatively  new  family.  Apollo  Belvidere  plumed  up  ! 
pride  conquered  gallantry.  His  Chesterfieldean  urbanity 
and  propriety  of  manner,  his  Websterian  precision  and 
elegance  of  languge  were  forgotten  ;  starting  up,  he  ex- 
claimed ! — 

"  Pish  !  tush  !  tut  1  pshaw  ! — don't  tell  me  about  King 
Charles'  unlegitiraate  descendants !  King  Charles  himself 
was  a  rebellion  hanged  for  treason !  If  blood  were  gold. 
Captain  Henry  Cartwright  (I  will  call  him  Cartwright !) 
could  sell  and  buy  the  whole  house  of  you  1  He  descended 
from  King  Charles,  were  you  !"  he  sneered,  with  a  diabolical 
grin  of  scorn  and  malice  contorting  his  shining  black  face. 
"Captain  Cartwright  can  say  more  than  that!  Captain 
Cartwright's  nigger  was  descended  from  a  King  I  I  am 
great-grandson  of  Prince  Tongataboo,  Emperor  of  Eahei- 
poewai,  and  if  I'm  a  man-servant  now,  it's  through  the 
fortunes  of  war  1" 

I  do  not  know  how  Apollo  Belvidere  looked  at  that  time, 
but  I  have  heard  him  accurately  described  as  he  looked  in 
his  old  age — as  he  stood  that  morning,  near  the  door  of  the 
oak  parlor,  with  hit  master's  banting-coat  thrown  acrau  bii 


•  TTTJLRT-GORDON'B    "OWN    MAW."     78 

arm,  his  spurs  in  his  hand  ;  his  tall,  broad-shouldered,  erect 
figure,  dressed  in  au  old  suit  of  his  master's  blue  aud  yellov 
regimentals,  was  surmounted  by  a  face  black  as  jet,  seamed 
aud  wrinkled  like  an  Indian  walnut,  and  shining  like  a  dried 
prune,  and  topped  by  a  crop  of  hair  white  as  snow. 

As  the  gentlemen  arose  from  their  breakfast,  and  as  the 
the  General  walked  leisurely  up  to  his  old  servitor,  and, 
laying  off  his  dressing-gown,  and  receiving  the  hunting-coat 
from  his  hands,  addressing  his  son,  he  said — 

"The  hounds  meet  at  Battletown  plains  this  morning; 
will  you  not  join  us  for  once,  Louis  ?" 

Louis  declined,  with  a  grave  smile.  He  was  weary  of 
reiterating  his  aversion  to  field-sports. 

"  What  will  you  do  with  yourself,  then,  Louis  ?  Stay,  1 
will  tell  yon.  Ride  over  to  Mont  Crystal  arid  call  on  Miss 
Armstrong — will  you  not  ?" 

Again  Louis  gravely  declined  the  proposition. 

"You  are  a  strange  youth,  Louis.  'Man  delights  you 
not,  nor  woman  either.'  IIow  do  you  intend  to  pass  the 
day  ?  Why  not  pay  your  respects  to  Miss  Armstrong  ?" 

"  Do  you  not  think,  father,  that  there  is  another  lady  who 
has  a  primary  claim  to  my  humble  services,  this  morning  ?" 

"  Miss  Somerville  1  Ah,  yes.  But  Susan  is  such  a 
recluse,  that  one  scarcely  ever  thinks  of  visiting  her.  How- 
ever, present  my  compliments  to  Miss  Somerville,  and, 
thanking  her  again  for  her  condescension  last  evening,  say 
that  if  I  dared  ask  so  much  of  her  courtesy,  I  should  entreat 
her  to  come  over  and  pour  out  the  old  man's  tea  again." 

Smiling  unconsciously  at  this  droll  blending  of  natural 
social  affections  with  prime  conventional  ceremony,  Louis 
bowed  acquiescence ;  and  the  General,  now  fully  accoutred, 
went  out  from  the  house,  aud,  mounting  his  great  black 
hunter,  set  forth  for  Battle  own  Plains. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

f  HI    MISTRESS    AND    THE    MAID. 

One  vrbow  life  U  like  »  star, 
Wlthoat  toll,  or  rest  to  mar 
Id  diriuest  harmony— 
Its  God-£iven  eternity.— Aldridt. 

A  being  of  sadden  em'.lsi  and  tears, 

Passionate  Yisions,  quick  llg'ut  and  shade. — ffemant. 

Louia  STUART-GORDON  sauntered  slowly,  abstractedly; 
feeling,  without  noticing,  the  cheering  influence  of  the 
sunlight,  flashing  on  the  bright  waters,  and  burning  on  the 
gorgeous  crimson,  golden,  and  purple-hued  foliage  of  the 
trees — sauntered  down  the  marble  steps,  and  across  the 
terrace,  to  a  finely-graveled  serpentine  walk,  which  con- 
ducted to  a  little  iron  gate  on  the  west,  that  led  from  the 
ornamented  grounds  into  the  copse,  and  thence,  through  a 
rough  path,  to  the  rocky  thicket  behind  the  house. 

Passing  through  this  tangled  thicket,  and  down  the  rough 
stone  stairs,  he  stepped  into  the  little  boat  fastened  to  a 
post  on  the  beach,  and  loosening  the  chain  that  confined  it, 
took  the  solitary  oar  and  rowed  for  the  opposite  shore, 
secured  his  boat,  and  ascending  the  rude  steps  leading  up 
the  rocky  bank,  stood  upon  the  mainland. 

The  path  leading  through  the  copses  and  thickets  of  that 
wild  and  rocky  shore  towards  The  Craigs,  "  the  short  cut," 
M  it  was  called,  for  striking  direct  through  every  sort  of 
horrible  obstacle,  was  toilsome  and  perilous  to  the  most 
agile  and  athletic  traveller.  It  was  intersected  by  deep, 
though  narrow,  rocky  chasms,  the  descent  and  ascent  of 
which  were  rendered  more  difficult  and  dangerous  by  th« 


THE     MISTRESS     AND     THE     MAID.        75 

•lippery  surface  of  the  rocks,  and  by  the  absence  of  any 
bush  or  projection  to  aid  in  going  down  or  climbing  up. 

An  hour's  toilsome  walk,  or  rather  climbing  up  and  down, 
yet  still  ascending  as  he  advanced,  brought  Louis  to  the 
summit  of  The  Craigs,  upon  which  stood  the  old  gray 
house.  It  was  a  large,  irregular  pile  of  buildings,  con- 
structed of  the  gray  rock  found  on  the  spot.  A  wall  of  the 
same  rude  material  closed  in  an  extensive  yard,  specked, 
not  shaded,  by  a  few  dwarfed  pine  and  cedar  bushes.  The 
ground  outside  of  this  stone  wall,  and  immediately  around 
the  house,  waa  bare,  sterile,  and  rocky.  The  first  English 
proprietor  of  the  estate  could  have  no  other  inducement  to 
erect  his  mansion  here,  than  was  afforded  by  the  fine  salu- 
brity of  the  air,  and  the  magnificent  prospect  around.  The 
view  from  the  south  front  of  the  house  was,  on  the  right 
hand,  beautiful  as  Eden  ;  on  the  left,  sublime,  and  even 
terrific. 

South  from  the  craggy  heights  on  which  the  house  stood, 
rough,  rocky,  and  jagged  hills,  tufted  between  the  clefts 
with  stumps  of  stunted  trees,  fell  pitching  and  precipitating 
headlong  toward  the  river.  On  the  west,  toward  the  Al- 
leghanies,  through  a  defile  of  which  roared  onward  the 
river,  till  it  thundered  over  the  precipice,  and,  with  many  a 
rebounding  leap,  and  re-echoing  howl,  hurried,  boiling  and 
foaming  among  the  jagged  rocks  of  the  blasted  channel, 
until  falling  over  a  lower  decline,  it  glided  on  smoothly  to- 
wards the  rising  sun,  dividing  to  embrace  the  sparkling  Isle 
of  Rays.  This  was  the  prospect  on  the  east,  the  south,  and 
west. 

Behind  the  house,  on  the  north,  the  hills  reared  higher 
and  still  higher,  while  they  fell  backwards  towards  the 
horizon.  Once,  thousands  of  acres  of  the  rich  plains  and 
luxurious  forest  lands  below,  were  owned  and  cultivated  by 
the  Someryilles — now,  nothing  remained  to  the  old  man 
and  his  grand-daughter  but  the  blasted  heights  known  M 


76  THE     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

The  Craga.  You  will  wonder  where  this  old  ani  iinporer- 
ished  gentlemen  raised  his  slender  crops.  Abont  in  spots ; 
on  small  patches  of  moderately  fertile  soil ;  on  the  sunny 
fall  of  some  of  the  hills ;  on  the  alluvion  between  them  ;  of 
on  the  low  shore  of  the  river  where  it  glided  on  below  the 
Isle  of  Rays. 

There  were  two  or  three  small  out-houses,  such  as  the 
kitchen,  a  smoke-hcuse,  &c.,  like  the  mansion,  built  of  gray 
stones,  and  the  ruins  of  many  more,  stuck  here  and  there 
within  the  walls  of  the  large  yard.  There  was  an  air  of 
great  stillness  and  solitude  in  the  scene  as  Louis  entered 
the  old  gate,  before  the  warm,  bright,  morning  sun  had  had 
time  to  rnelt  the  frost  from  the  steps  of  the  old  piazza,  in 
this  cold  locality.  Louis  rapped  at  the  oaken  door,  which 
was  immediately  opened  by  George,  foe  factotum  of  tlia 
household,  and  who,  turning  the  lock  of  a  second  door, 
namely,  on  the  left  of  the  wide  entrance-hall,  announced — 

"  Mr.  Stuart-Gordon !" 

And  Louis,  passing  in,  found  himself  in  the  family  sitting- 
room,  and  in  the  presence  of  Miss  Somerville  and  he' 
attendant,  Anna. 

It  was  a  poor  room,  large  and  ill-furnished,  with  decayed, 
old-fashioned  furniture,  consisting  of  an  old  carpet — whol<>, 
but  faded  all  into  one  dark-brov.n  hue — old  high-backed 
walnut  chairs,  with  leather  bottoms;  little  spider-legged 
mahogany  tables  and  stands;  a  tall,  right-angular  walnut 
cupboard,  with  glass  doors,  in  one  corner;  a  tall,  oil 
mahogany  escritoire  opposite,  in  the  other  ;  a  third  corner 
being  filled  up  with  a  high,  coffin-shaped  clock;  and  ti;e 
fourth  being  occupied  by  the  large,  right-angled  firepln'.'-:>, 
that  crossed  it.  There  was  something  here  that  compon 
Bated  for  all  ;he  poverty  of  the  room.  Yirgini-.:: 
accustomed  to  say,  "  A  good  fire  is  a  handsome  pSeje  o' 
furniture,"  an(?  here  a  glorious  fire  of  oak  and  pint  v\c»j : 
olazed  on  the  ample  hearth,  roaring  up  the  cUjr.ujy,  lad 


THE     MISTRESS     AND     THE     MAID.        77 

diffusing  a  genial  warmth  i\  rough  the  large  room.  Miss 
Somerville  and  her  maid  were  both  seated  at  the  fire,  with 
a  work-stand  between  them.  Miss  Somerville,  looking  as 
serenely  beautiful  as  usual,  in  her  dark  stuff  dress,  with  her 
glossy,  black  hair,  half-carelessly  caught  up  behind  under 
her  tortoise-shell  comb,  half-dropping  in  soft,  black,  shining 
rings,  down  one  plump,  white  cheek.  Susan  was  engaged 
in  needle-work,  and  her  attendant  was  reading  to  her,  as 
Mr.  Stuart-Gordon  entered.  The  girl  immediately  closed 
the  book,  and  keeping  her  place  in  it  with  her  finger  and 
thumb,  held  it  upon  her  lap,  while  her  head  was  bent,  and 
her  large,  sloping,  gloomy  black  eyes,  half  hidden  by  their 
heavy  lids,  fell  upon  the  floor.  Miss  Somerville  arose  with 
her  usual  serene  dignity,  and  welcoming  her  visitor,  begged 
him  to  be  seated.  Anna  also  left  her  seat,  and  curtsying 
respectfully,  withdrew  to  the  other  end  of  the  long  room, 
Susan  following  her  with  her  eyes,  as  though  she  were  half 
inclined  to  summon  her  back.  She  did  not  do  so,  however 
but  turning,  seated  herself,  saying  : — 

"Anna  was  just  reading  Ivanhoe  to  me.  Miss  Britannia 
O'Riley,  Miss  Armstrong's  governess,  receives  all  these  new 
things  from  Washington,  and  she  is  so  kind  as  to  send  them 
over  to  me,  after  she  has  perused  them.  Anna  reads  there 
aloud,  while  I  sew ;  and,"  added  she,  tsoUo  voce,  "  Anna 
possesses  that  rarest  of  all  accomplishments,  a  fine  elocution. 
I  should  like  to  have  you  hear  her  read." 

"I  should  be  very  much  pleased  to  do  so,  indeed,"  said 
Louis,  "  she  must  have  a  fine  conception  of  her  subject,  as 
well  as  a  musical  voice  and  a  good  enunciation,  to  delight 
so  much  Miss  Somerville's  fastidious  taste." 

"I  am  not  fastidious,  us  I  do  not  pretend  to  taste;  yet 
Anna  has  all  the  fine  points  of  a  good  reader  that  yon  have 
enumerated,  and  I  think  perhaps  I  have  judgment  enough 
to  appreciate  them — poor  Anna  I" 


T8  THE     MOTHXB-IN-LAW. 

"And  why  poor  Anna  ?  Is  she  not  very  happy  in  yoaf 
gentle  service,  Miss  Somerville  ?" 

"  You  do  not  know  the  girl,  Lonis,  or  you  wonld  not  ask 
me.  Look  at  her  now,"  added  she,  in  a  subdued  voice. 

Louis  turned  his  eyes  to  the  window  at  which  she  stood, 
and  was  struck  with  the  attitude  &nd  expression  of  utter 
despair  into  which  the  girl  had  unconsciously  fallen.  Louis 
looked  at  her  with  an  attention  that  he  had  never  before 
bestowed  on  Miss  Somerville's  attendant. 

And  now  he  observed  for  the  first  time  that  she  possessed 
tho  most  lofty  style  of  beauty.  Her  tall,  full,  graceful 
figure  was  finely  curved,  as  she  leaned  upon  the  high  back 
af  an  old  leathern  chair,  looking  abstractedly  from  the  win- 
dow, the  light  from  which  fell  upon  her  superb  head,  covered 
with  a  magnificent  suit  of  black  hair,  that,  dividing  above 
Her  broad,  pale  forehead,  rippled  off  into  thousands  of  tiny 
jet-black,  glistening  wavelets  over  her  temples  and  around 
her  cheeks,  and  was  gathered  into  a  large  knot  confined  by  a 
silver  bodkin  behind.  Her  sloping,  gloomy,  but  beautiful 
eyes,  the  sad  expression  of  her  full,  red  lips,  closed  as  they 
habitually  were,  were  added  to  the  fascination  of  a  face  that 
attracted  without  volition  or  consciousness.  Her  dress  was 
of  the  coarse  linsey-woolsey  worn  in  winter  by  Southern 
house-servants,  but  hers  was  plaid,  of  very  brilliant  colors, 
made  high  in  the  neck,  with  sleeves  reaching  the  wrists, 
fitting  accurately  her  charmingly  developed  form,  and  har- 
monizing well  with  her  dark,  imperial  style  of  beauty. 
Lonis  looked  at  her,  at  first,  in  obedience  to  Miss  Somer- 
rille's  indication  ;  then  with  surprise  and  admiration  at  the 
singular  beauty  he  had  never  before  noticed ;  and  lastly, 
with  wonder  as  to  the  sorrow,  the  recollection  of  which 
could  so  suddenly  convert  the  lately  ardent  and  animated 
reader,  glowingly  alive  to  all  the  beauties  and  sublimitiei 
of  her  subject,  into  the  pale,  cold,  lifeless  statue  of  despair, 
•o  apparently  lost  to  the  world  around  her,  at  to  be  totally 


fkl     MISTRESS     AND     THE     MAID. 


the  scene  and  presence  in  which  she  stood. 
Louis  turned  his  eyes  inquiringly  to  the  serene  countenance 
of  Miss  Somer?ille. 

"  She  ig  *  slave  /"  murmured  Susan,  in  a  low,  but  em- 
phatic tone. 

Louis  locked  perplexed,  bewildered,  and  did  not  reply. 
Susan  smilbd  sadly  at  his  embarrassment,  as  she  continued 
gravely—  . 

"  You  would  say,  Louis,  that  you  were  already  aware  of 
that  fact  ;  that  this  was  nothing  new  or  extraordinary  in 
ker  position  —  that,  in  a  word,  you  know  she  is  a  slave;  but 
do  you  also  know,  Louis,  all  that  means  to  her  f" 

He  did  not  reply,  but  seemed  engaged  in  thought.  Susan 
continued  in  a  low,  earnest  voice  — 

"  No  ;  you,  like  other  excellent  men  I  know,  look  on 
liavery  with  indifference.  It  is  the  nonchalance  of  cus 
torn.  But  this  girl  !  I  tell  you,  Louis,  that  were  you  o» 
myself  now  reduced  to  slavery  —  were  we  to  change  positions 
with  one  of  our  slaves  —  become  his  property  —  subject  to  hia 
orders  —  a  thing  to  be  chained,  imprisoned,  beaten,  bought, 
gold,  at  his  whim  —  neither  you  nor  I  could  have  a  more 
poignant  sense  of  degradation  than  she  suffers  ;  for,  Louis, 
bhe  had  naturally  a  sensitive  heart  and  a  lofty  intellect,  and, 
even  in  her  condition  and  circumstances,  both  have  been 
too  highly  cultivated  for  her  peace." 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Louis,  thoughtfully,  "  nay,  it  is  inevi- 
table, that  her  condition  must  be  painful  and  humiliating  in 
proportion  to  her  intellect  and  sensibility  ;  but  was  the  cul- 
tivation of  this  mind  and  heart  well?  Was  it  even  merciful, 
on  your  part,  Miss  Somerville  ?  I  think  in  her  case,  indeed, 
where  'ignorance  is'  so  palpably  'bliss,  it  is  folly  to  b« 
wise.'  " 

"Even  if  I  had  been  disposed,  I  could  not  have  repressed 
the  growth  and  development  of  Anna's  intellect  ;  but  do 
mot  tkink  that  I  teas  disposed  !  No,  Louis,  let  the  tool 


SO  THE     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

have  free  coarse  to  reach  its  highest  life,  through  sorrew 
and  anguish,  if  necessary.  No,  Louis;  any  life  and  light, 
even  the  life  of  suffering  in  the  light  of  fire,  is  higher  tha» 
the  death  of  darkness,  of  stillness,  of  nothingness.  No, 
Louis ;  give  her  the  fires  of  purgatory  rather  than  the  ease 
of  annihilation." 

The  usually  calm  face  of  the  girl  was  inspired  and  glow- 
ing while  she  spoke 

"You  are  right,  Miss  Somerville,  perfectly  right,"  said 
the  youth  ;  "  and,"  added  he,  blushing  ingenuously,  "  I  feel 
ashamed  of  my  superficially  formed  and  hastily  expressed 
opinion." 

Seeing  now  that  Anna  had  withdrawn  from  the  room, 
Miss  Somerville  continued  to  speak  of  her. 

"  She  has  been  my  intimate  companion  from  babyhood 
up.  I  do  not  remember  the  time  when  Anna  was  not  by 
my  side.  She  went  to  school  to  wait  on  me.  Could  any 
one — even  had  such  a  one  been  affected  with  your  just  ex- 
pressed opinion,  as  to  the  inexpediency  of  educating  a  slave 
— could  any  one,  I  say,  suspect  that  a  little  child,  sitting 
at  my  feet  without  books,  could  pick  up  an  education  by 
eye  and  ear,  feeding  her  hungry  mind  with  the  crumbs  of 
knowledge  that  fell  from  the  rich  man's  table;  or  could  auy 
one  have  prevented  the  progress  of  such  a  mind,  only  once 
awakened  and  aroused  ?  Anna  has  been  and  is  dear  to  me 
as  a  sister.  She  has  more  ardor,  more  fire,  than  my  Anglo- 
Saxon  blood  gives  me,  and  even  in  her  childhood  I  have 
seen  her  kindle  into  enthusiasm  when  history  or  poetry  gave 
back  the  gorgeous  past,  and  heroes  or  martyrs  again  lived, 
struggled,  suffered,  or  died  before  her.  Then  her  admira- 
tion, her  enthusiasm,  was  unalloyed  joy !  She  was  so 
charming,  that  her  society  was,  to  me,  unmixed  delight. 
Her  appreciation  gave  effect  to  books  otherwise  onlj 
moderately  interesting  to  me,  as  her  eye  and  voice  kindled 
her  subject  into  brilliance.  Louis,  4lmt  was  io  her  simple, 


VKX     MISTRESS     AND     THE     MAID.        SI 

fwlf-forgetting  childhood,  when  we  were  sisters  and  com- 
panions, and  walked  with  our  arms  around  each  other'g 
waists.  But  here  is  now  another  period — a  time  of  self- 
remembrance  and  of  sorrow  to  both  of  us — of  humiliation 
to  her.  Now  she  will  at  times  glow  with  something  like 
her  old  enthusiasm  when  reading  some  tale  of  daring 
achievement,  or  of  courageous  endurance,  or  self-immolating 
martyrdom, -ia  some  old  history  or  high  epic  poem,  and  her 
cheek  will  burn,  her  eye  blaze,  her  tongue  grow  eloquent 
with  the  enthusiasm  of  her  soul.  Then,  suddenly,  as 
memory  comes,  she  will  become  silent,  grow  pale  as  ashes, 
and,  involuntarily,  inevitably,  fall  into  an  attitude  of  mute 
despair.  She  never  speaks  of  her  position,  her  sorrow ;  I 
never  heard  her  utter  a  word  of  complaint,  impatience,  or 
repining,  in  my  life.  I  have  seen  her  suffer  excruciating 
bodily  pain,  and  when  I  have  been  distressed  to  death  at 
her  agony,  she  has  smiled  a  mournful  smile  at  the  sympathy 
that  could  so  far  forget,  or  was  so  unconscious  of  the  great, 
the  permanent,  the  all-absorbing  sorrow  of  her  life,  as  to 
lavish  itself  upon  a  minor  and  transient  trial." 

"But  is  this,  must  this  be,  a, permanent  sorrow  ?" 

"Alas,  I  greatly  fear  so!  though  God  knows  the  only 
thing  needful  to  my  repose  is  Anna's  freedom." 

"  And  can  you  not  accomplish  this  object  so  just  and  so 
dear  to  you,  Susan  ?" 

"Ah,  no!  You  are  aware,  or  perhaps  you  are  not 
aware,  of  my  grandfather's  peculiar  disposition,  or,  to  speak 
more  accurately,  his  present  peculiar  state  of  mind.  He  is 
very  old,  you  know,  nearly  ninety,  and  he  has  a  nervous 
dread  of  losing  the  control  of  his  own  mind — a  fear  lest  I 
should  suppose  him  imbecile — in  his  dotage — a  suspicion 
that  I  think  him  incapable  of  self-government,  and  that  I  wish 
to  govern  him.  This  makes  him  exceedingly  jealous  of  my 
Influence,  exceedingly  suspicious  of  any  plan  I  may  propose 
to  him,  and  the  more  anxious  I  feel  for  the  accomplishment 


82  fHB     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

of  my  wishes,  the  firmer  he  shows  himself  in  V««  rejection 
of  the  proposition,  whatever  it  may  be.  Tb-%  6ret  time  I 
was  struck  with  this  was  the  day  on  which  I  first  went  to 
him  to  petition  for  Anna's  freedom.  Anna  had  fallen  into 
one  of  her  fits  of  deep  but  mute  despondency,  froxu  which 
nothing  on  earth  could  arouse  her.  Though  she  sa;d  no- 
thing, I  gained  the  cause  of  her  despair,  and  suddenly,  for 
the  first  time,  the  possibility  of  its  removal  occurred  to  me. 
I  went  to  my  grandfather,  as  he  was  dozing  in  his  big  arm- 
chair, and  spoke  my  petition.  Awakened  suddenly  and 
very  much  surprised,  he  gazed  at  me  in  silent  perplexity. 
[  repeated  and  urged  my  petition ;  and  then  he  smilingly 
caressed  me,  and  told  me  that  my  patrimony  in  land  and 
negroes  was  too  small  to  bear  abatement,  and  that  young 
girls  knew  nothing  about  such  things.  Then  I  began  to 
reason  with  him — that  was  unluckily  though  of;  it 
awakened  his  jealous  self-esteem,  and  he  said  gravely,  even 
mournfully:  'My  dear  Susan,  I  give  you  the  largest  per- 
sonal liberty ;  you  may  do  what  you  wish  to  do,  in  the  way 
you  wish  to  do  it;  go  where  you  like,  when  you  like,  and 
stay  as  long  as  you  like  ;  make  what  friends  or  reject  what 
acquaintances  you  please — unquestioned  and  unreproved  by 
your  grandfather.  I  leave  you  to  your  own  government, 
because,  Susan,  I  think  you  capable  of  self-guidance.  Pay 
me  the  repect  of  believing  the  same  thing  of  me,  my  dear  1' 
What  could  I  say  ?  I  said  every  thing  I  could  think  of, 
bvt  the  more  I  talked  the  firmer  he  became — he  seemed 
adamant.  I  have  returned  again  and  again  to  the  subject, 
without  any  other  effect  than,  of  late,  that  of  irritating 
Mm." 

"And  yet  there  is  not  a  gentler-hearted  man  in  the  world 
than  your  grandfather." 

"Teal  that  is  it.  If  the  thing  had  occurred  to  his  own 
mind  first,  he  would  not  have  hesitated  a  moment.  Bat  it 
is  mournful  to  see  Low  shakingly  he  sits  upon  his  tottering 


TH1     MIBTBESS     AND     THE     MAID.        88 

throne,  and  how  tremblingly  he  holds  his  falling  sceptre  of 
self-sovereignty,  and  how  he  dreads  lest  some  one  should 
wish  to  wrest  it  from  his  feeble  grasp.  It  is  pathetic  to  see 
the  sad  compromise  he  makes  by  offering  me  my  free  will  on 
condition  that  I  should  not  seek  to  fetter  his." 

"  There  is  a  sadder  sight  than  that — Anna !  Yet  still, 
Miss  Somemlle,  I  cannot  see  why  you  set  the  seal  of  despair 
upon  Anna's  sorrow  by  calling  it  permanent.  In  the 
course  of  nature,  before  very  long,  the  destiny  of  Anna,  if 
she  lives,  must  fall  into  your  hands,  and  you  will  free  her  at 


once. 


Suddenly  a  dark  shadow  overswept  the  countenance  of 
Susan  Somerville,  and  she  for  an  instant  lost  the  power  of 
reply.  Then  recovering  somewhat,  she  said  sorrowfully — 

"Alas  I  you  do  not  know — my  poor  grandfather  does  not 
know  himself — that  he  is  overwhelmed  with  debt ;  that  he 
lies  hourly  at  the  mercy  of  a  set  of  creditors,  any  one  of 
whom  at  any  time  may  levy  on  his  property,  and  swept  off 
house,  land,  and  people.  There,  sir  I  that  is  the  great  ter- 
ror of  my  life — the  daily  expectation  of  seeing  my  foster- 
parents,  George  and  Harriet,  that  excellent  couple,  and  my 
dear  foster-sister,  Anna,  sold  into  redemptionless  slavery, 
and  to  see  my  feeble,  grey-haired  grandfather  turned  house- 
less into  the  world  1" 

Louis  was  surprised,  dismayed,  at  this  unexpected  infor- 
mation he  did  not  for  some  moments  attempt  to  reply,  but 
fell  into  deep  and  serious  thought.  At  last,  judging  that 
the  hour  of  their  frugal  dinner  was  near,  and  not  wishing  to 
embarrass  them  by  his  presence,  he  arose  to  take  leave,  ex- 
pressing his  hope  and  his  father's  wish  that  Miss  Somer- 
tille  might  come  over  in  the  evening. 

"I  will  do  so,"  said  Susan,  quietly. 

"  Then,  dear  Miss  Somerville,  will  you  permit  me  to 
come,  and  meet,  and  escort  you  ?" 

"If  yon  please,"  said  Susan,  absently ;  then  added, 
I  shall  be  Terj  happy." 


CHAPTER  X. 

fHl    OLD  COUNTRY   SCH OO LM A «TB1 . 

Bit  very  manners  teach  amend, 

They  are  so  even,  grave,  and  holy 

No  stubbornness  so  stiff,  nor  folly 

To  license  ever  was  so  light, 

As  twice  to  trespass  In  hU  sight , 

His  look  wonid  so  correct  it  when 

He  chid  the  voice,  yet  not  the  men. — Ben  Jonson 

REMEMBER  that  the  northern  bend  of  the  river  was  wild 
and  rocky,  rising  to  The  Crags,  and  that  the  southern  shore, 
upon  which  was  situated  Mont  Crystal,  was  undulating  and 
hilly.  Remember  that  the  northern,  the  rocky  and  barren 
bank  was  behind  the  palace  on  the  Isle  of  Rays — the  south- 
ern, the  undulating  shore,  was  before  and  in  front  of  it. 
Recollect,  that  in  sight  of  the  front  windows  of  the  palace 
were  two  homesteads.  I  pointed  them  out  to  yon  myself. 
One,  the  nearer,  and  far  the  more  magnificent,  was  the 
marble-fronted  mansion  of  Mont  Crystal,  "  crowning  a 
gradual  hill,"  rising  from  the  river  shore.  Of  the  other,  the 
more  distant  and  the  humbler,  you  could  see  nothing  but 
the  top  of  a  steep  gable-ended  roof,  sticking  up  from  the 
thicket  of  trees,  on  the  right  hand  toward  the  east  of  Mont 
Crystal. 

That  thicket  of  pir.es.  with  the  sloping  plains  behind  it, 
forms  the  Dovecote  farm,  and  the  steeped-roofed,  gable- 
ended  cottage  is  the  farm-house.  The  farm  is  very  small, 
and  the  soil  is  very  poor — is  quite  worn  out,  from  having 
been  worked  too  hard  and  too  constantly,  and  fed  too  little ; 
and  the  farm-house  is  very  small,  and  very  much  out  of  re- 
pair. The  Dovecote  farm  is  called  by  the  name  of  its  old 


THB     OLD     SCHOOLMAriTKB.  86 

owner,  Gabriel  Dove,  a  patriarch  of  seventy  years  of  age, 
who  has  been  the  schoolmaster  of  the  neighborhood  for  the 
last  fifty  years,  and  after  a  long  life  of  the  most  laborious 
toil  and  self-denying  frugality,  and  of  the  most  beneficial 
devotion  to  others,  found  himself  at  seventy  a  much  poorer 
man  in  this  world's  goods  than  he  was  at  twenty,  when  he 
entered  the  profession.  He  hud  received  the  teacher's 
meed  of  poverty  and  pleasant  memories.  It  was  the  old 
man's  pride  to  claim  every  child,  man  and  woman,  under 
sixty  years  old,  in  the  neighborhood,  as  his  some  time 
pupil.  The  haughty  lady  of  Mont  Crystal  had  conned  her 
ABC  under  his  tuition.  General  Stuart-Gordon  had 
scrawled  his  lirst  pot-hooks  and  hangers  on  his  forma. 
Gentle  Margaret  Stuart-Gordon  had  cooed  her  a-b-abs  at 
his  side.  And  at  a  later  day,  young  Louis  had  studied  his 
Greek  exercises  and  solved  his  Euclid's  problems  under  his 
eye,  and  the  calm,  wise  Susan  Somerville  had  studied  her 
grammar,  while  the  eager  Annie  sat  at  her  feet,  drinking 
in  large  draughts  of  knowledge  and  kindling  into  enthu- 
siasm when  the  chivalry  or  martyrdom  of  the  past  was  the 
theme  of  instruction  ;  and  how  the  schoolmaster  loved  those 
little  girls — the  serene  Susan,  the  ardent  Annie  I  and  many  a 
sly,  kind  pat  on  the  head  and  stroke  of  the  cheek  did  the  lat- 
ter receive — for  it  would  not  have  been  expedient  to  have 
shown  her  favor  in  the  presence  of  the  other  pupils — it 
would  have  ended  in  some  of  hia  proud  patrons  requiring 
her  expulsion  from  her  humble  seat,  or  have  broken  up  his 
school  I  He  did  not  wish  the  former,  he  could  not  afford 
the  latter  alternative.  So  he  tried  to  keep  Annie  quiet 
and  happy  in  her  lowly  station  of  mere  sufferance.  Ah  I 
the  heart  of  the  gentle  old  man  was  gladdened  by  such 
pupils  as  Susie  and  Annie,  and  he  could  ill  a  fiord  to  lose 
them.  And  there,  too,  close  behind  Susie,  murmured  the 
voice  of  another  little  maiden,  conning  her  little  task — Zoe 
the  adopted  daughter  of  tie  old  schoolmaster — that  irai  all 


86  THX     MOTHKB-IN-LJLW. 

that  was  Known  of  her.  The  old  man  had  opened  his  doot 
one  fine  summer  morning,  and  found  a  babe  packed  up  in  a 
basket  upon  the  porch ;  and  after  having  recovered  from 
the  shock  and  collected  Lis  scattered  senses,  and  after  bar- 
ing vainly  endeavored  to  prevail  on  some  of  the  rich  neigh- 
bors to  adopt  the  child,  he  had  carried  it  to  the  almshouse 
one  evening,  had  returned  home,  and  groaned  In  the  spirit 
all  night,  and  had  risen  at  early  dawn,  and  traveled  over 
to  the  almshouse,  to  reclaim  the  little  castaway,  had  brought 
it  back,  and  adopted  it.  One  half  of  the  neighborhood 
gaid  the  old  schoolmaster  was  mad,  and  the  other  half 
would  have  hinted  that  he  had  been  wicked  ;  but  that  "  the 
yery  fangs  of  malice"  could  not  have  gnawed  a  flaw  into 
which  to  insert  a  doubt — so  crystal,  pure,  and  polished  had 
been  the  old  man's  life.  So  little  Zoe  (that  was  the  name 
he  gave  his  adopted  baby)  was  conveyed  to  the  care  of  the 
old  free  negress,  whom  he  had  hired  as  his  cook,  house- 
keeper, &c. 

But  now  times  were  very  badly  changed  with  the  old 
man.  I  cannot  say  that  he  had  seen  "  better  days."  He 
had  never  seen  good  days,  much  less  "  better"  ones.  In  a 
worldly  and  pecuniary  point  of  view,  his  days  had  been  bad, 
and  now  they  were  worse.  He  was  older,  and,  for  his  life 
of  self-devotion,  poorer  in  purse,  and  feebler  in  person,  than 
he  should  have  been  at  seventy.  Teachers  wear  out  sooner 
than  other  men  ;  I  do  not  mean  spurious  teachers,  who  take 
up  the  "  trade  "  for  a  mere  livelihood — but  teachers  anointed 
by  God  himself  for  their  mission  and  their  martyrdom.  The 
country  boasts — no,  never  boasts  of  them — their  "  quiet 
paths  of  unobtrusive  goodness  "  lead  through  the  unfrequen- 
ted by-ways  of  life.  Their  prospectuses  do  not  fill  new* 
papers,  but  their  labors  fill  hearts  and  heads,  at  least  &fev 
hearts  and  heads,  witb  goodness  and  wisdom— the  country 
possesses  many  such.  But  times  that  always  had  been  bad, 
Wtre  now  worse  with  our  old  schoolmaster ;  his  energies 


THE     OLD     SCHOOLMASTER,  87 

trere  decayed,  his  steps  were  tottering,  as  he  leaned  more 
and  more  heavily  upon  his  stick,  as  he  bent  forward  toward 
the  scene  of  his  daily  labors.  His  hand  trembled  as  he 
guided  the  pen  or  pencil  of  his  pupils,  and  his  eyes  dimmed 
with  reading,  ,and  the  letters  of  the  Latin  grammar  swam 
together,  even  with  the  aid  of  his  spectacles. 

People  began  to  whisper  that  the  old  schoolmaster  was 
getting  too  old  and  infirm  for  his  business,  and  that  he 
ought,  in  justice  to  the  neighborhood,  to  resign  it  to  younger 
hands  ;  and  many  began  to  remove  their  children  from  his 
charge.  The  old  man  had  now  about  twelve  pupils,  at  from 
two  to  five  dollars  per  quarter  each.  As  is  always  the  case, 
the  parents  or  guardians  of  only  about  half  this  number 
paid  him ;  so  that  the  old  schoolmaster's  income  did  not 
amount  to  more  than  twenty-five  or  thirty  dollars  per  quar- 
ter. Even  this  small  salary  was  fast,  very  fast,  decreasing. 
At  the  end  of  every  quarter,  and  especially  at  the  end  of 
every  half  year,  some  of  his  old  pupils  were  sure  to  drop  off, 
and  their  places  were  never  supplied  by  new  ones. 

So  much  for  his  school. 

At  home,  changes  had  also  transpired.  The  old  negress 
who,  for  many  years,  had  been  his  housekeeper  and  servant, 
was  dead,  and  the  old  schoolmaster's  reduced  means  did  not 
allow  him  to  employ  another.  The  cares  and  labors  of  the 
household  devolved  on  his  adopted  child,  Zoe,  and  admira- 
bly did  the  little  maiden  acquit  herself  of  the  duties. 

Of  all  the  old  teacher's  pupils,  of  sixty  years  old  and 
under,  none  remembered  or  visited  him  with  the  exception 
of  two, — a  brother  and  a  sister :  the  sister,  a  girl  whose 
name  was  a  byword  and  a  mockery  in  the  neighborhood — 
Gertrude  Lion — the  Diana,  the  Amazon,  the  giantess,  the 
Gerfalcon,  as  she  was  called ;  the  brother,  Brutus  Lion,  a 
masculine  exaggeration  of  all  that  was  most  obnoxious  and 
unpopular  in  the  charac  ;er  and  habits  of  the  Gerfalcon. 


CHAPTER  £1. 

THE    DOVECOTE    AND    THE    DOVB. 

«o  lift  the  willing  latch— the  scene  explore— 

Sweet  peace  and  love  and  joy  thou  there  shall  find; 

For  there  religion  dwells,  whose  sacred  lore 
Leaves  the  proud  wisdom  of  the  world  behind, 
And  pours  a  heavenly  ray  on  every  human  mind. 

Dr  Ifi.ntlK.gt  on, 

There  is  a  light  around  her  hrow, 

A  holinesa  In  those  dark  eyes, 
Which  show,  though  wandering  earthward  now, 

Her  spirit's  home  is  in  the  skies. — Moort. 

THROUGH  the  front  windows  of  the  Island  Palace  you 
Lave  already  caught  a  distant  glimpse  of  the  steep  gable 
end  of  the  Dovecote  peeping  up  above  the  thicket. 

Now,  let  us  take  a  nearer  view.  The  Dovecote  is  rather 
a  cot  than  a  cottage.  It  is  the  tiniest  and  the  most  se- 
cluded little  home  in  the  whole  valley.  No  highway  cornea 
near  it.  One  narrow  footpath  leads  to  it.  This  path  leads 
down  the  southern  descent  of  the  richly-wooded  hill  of 
Mont  Crystal,  and  meandering  lower  and  deeper  into  a 
glen  that  opened  a  narrow  vista  to  the  river,  and  passing 
through  the  thicket  and  across  the  brook  at  the  bottom, 
leads  gently  upward  to  the  little  wicket-gate  of  the  small 
garden  in  front  of  the  tiny  cot,  wedged  up  against  and 
sheltered  on  three  sides  by  closely  pressing  and  thickly 
wooded  hills.  Thus  this  sweet,  secluded  little  home  is  visi- 
ble only  from  one  point, — toward  the  Isle  of  Rays.  This 
one  path,  wending  past  the  tiny  garden-gate,  leads  through 
a  short,  rich  brushwood  down  to  the  sandy  beach  of  the 
river,  where  to  a  post  is  tied  a  little  skiff  with  one  oar,  in 


TBK     DOVECOTE     AND     DOVJL  89 

which  the  old  schoolmaster  rows  himself  across  the  river 
every  morning  and  evening,  in  going  to  and  returning  from 
the  scene  of  his  daily  school  labors  For,  be  it  remem- 
bered that -the  school-house  is  situated  on  the  opposite 
bank  of  the  river,  and  far  up  toward  The  Crags. 

The  Dovecote,  besides  beirg  extremely  small,  is  con- 
structed in  the  simplest  form  and  out  of  the  rudest  and 
readiest  materials ;  the  walls,  of  twenty  feet  square,  being 
built  of  red  sandstone  found  on  the  spot,  and  the  roof 
being  covered  with  pine  boards,  now  nearly  black  with 
long  exposure  to  the  weather.  Oue  little  door,  with  one 
little  window  to  the  left,  are  shaded  by  the  projecting  eaves 
of  the  roof,  which,  supported  by  straight  pillars  made  of 
the  slender  trunks  of  the  pine-trees  with  the  bark  on,  forms 
the  rude  porch.  There  is  room  for  the  little  garden  only 
in  front,  the  sides  and  back  of  the  house  being  crowded  by 
the  hills. 

So,  dear  young  school-girl  reader,  the  Dovecote  is  * 
stereotyped  neat  white  cottage  with  green  blinds, — the  cus- 
tom-sanctioned abode  of  youth,  iove,  and  romance.  No ; 
its  colors  are  those  of  the  Virgin  Mary's  costume  in  certain 
old  Flemish  pictures,  namely  :  dun  red  beneath,  dusky  blue 
above ;  but  more  picturesque,  more  beautiful  and  romantic 
it  is,  I  assure  you,  than  your  sentimental  fancy  thing  of 
white  and  green  could  be.  The  deep  rich  hue  of  the  red 
walls ;  the  fine  dark-blue  re  of,  surrounded  by  the  brilliantly 
variegated  colors  of  the  goigeous  autumn  foliage  ;  the  glow- 
ing scarlet  of  the  oak,  the  dark  green  of  the  pines  and  ce- 
dars, the  bright  yellow  hickory,  the  rich  purple  dogwood 
crowning  the  close  hills,  and  the  intense  blue  of  the  moun- 
tains  in  the  back  ground,  formed  a  fine  rich  deep-toned  pic- 
ture, that,  when  the  sun  mounted  to  the  meridian,  kindled 
into  burning  refulgence. 

So  much  for  the  outside  of  the  picture — now  come  in. 

Thii  small  front  door  admits  you  into  the  room— the  only 


10  THE     MOTHEB-IN-LAW. 

room  on  the  ground  floor.  Look  around — this  apartment 
is  parlor,  kitchen,  and  dining-room,  for  the  little  family,  yet 
it  is  the  picture  of  neatness.  The  walls  are  colored  stone- 
gray  ;  on  the  floor  is  a  home-made  carpet  of  red  and  green 
plaid,  and  at  the  only  window  is  a  red  and  green  paper  blind 
to  match.  Just  opposite  to  the  door  you  enter  is  the  fire- 
place, where  a  clear,  bright  fire  is  burning ;  on  each  end  or 
the  mantelpiece  is  a  bright  brass  candlestick,  and  a  small 
clock  occupies  the  centre.  On  the  right  hand  of  the  fire- 
place is  a  corner  cupboard,  with  glass  doors,  through  which 
you  can  see  the  nice,  clean  crockery  ware.  On  the  left  hand 
is  a  deal  table,  scoured  white  as  a  curd  ;  the  chairs  are  or 
common  white  deal,  to  match  the  table.  And  in  one  corner 
of  the  room,  to  the  left  of  the  window,  is  a  small  stand  with 
a  drawer — that  is  Zoe's  work-stand,  where  she  keeps  all  her 
needlework ;  but  it  is  never  removed  from  that  corner,  be- 
cause on  top  of  that  stand  is  the  cottage  library,  consisting 
of  the  family  Bible,  Shakspeare,  Milton,  and  the  life  of  John 
Howard ;  and  above  the  work-stand,  next  to  the  window, 
hangs  a  portrait  of  John  Howard — that  was  the  image  the 
old  schoolmaster  worshiped  I  Little  did  he  think  he  was 
an  idolater. 

Above  stairs  there  were  two  little  bedrooms,  one  occupied 
by  the  old  man  and  the  other  by  Zoe. 

And  now  I  want  to  tell  you  about  this  red  and  green 
plaid  carpet  on  the  floor.  It  is  just  laid  down.  It  is  the 
work  of  Zoe's  own  hands — the  product  of  Zoe's  own  indus- 
try and  economy.  Nothing  is  lost  in  that  small  household. 
AH  the  old  man's  cast-off  garments,  and  all  Zoe's  worn-out 
^othes,  have  been  saved  for  years  past — have  been  washed, 
;ut  up  into  narrow  strips,  twisted  into  cord,  dyed — one-hali 
green  and  one-half  red — and  is  now  woven  into  this  fresh, 
new,  bright  carpet.  Zoe  has  an  especial  little  housewife'! 
pleasure  in  having  drawn  out  from  the  chrysalis  of  an  old- 
clothes  barrel  the  butterfly  of  a  new  plaid  carpet  It  ii  M 


THK     DOVECOTS     AND     DOT*,  tl 

trent  in  her  life  that  this  new  carpet  is  now  finished  and  laid 
down,  and  that  she  has  been  able,  from  her  scanty  sayings, 
to  purchase  the  window  blind  to  match  it  The  old  man 
Das  not  returned  from  school  yet,  and  she  is  awaiting  hii 
arrival  with  great  interest,  to  note  his  expression  of  surprise 
and  pleasure  when  he  finds  the  hitherto  bare,  cold  boards 
covered  with  that  bright,  warm  carpet,  that  gives  such  an 
air  of  comfort  and  coziness  to  the  room. 

It  was  the  last  school-day  before  Christmas — that  is,  it 
•was  Friday,  and  Christmas  was  to  come  on  Tnesday — there" 
fore,  Zoe  had  laid  down  her  new  carpet,  had  made  up  a 
glowing  fire,  and  re-rubbed  the  brass  fire-dogs  to  a  silvery 
brightness,  and  had  painted  the  brick  hearth  with  red  ochre, 
found  in  the  neighboring  brook.  She  had  set  the  coffee- 
boiler  over  the  blaze,  made  an  Indian-meal  johnny-cake  on 
a  long  pine  board,  propped  it  up  with  a  smoothing  iron 
before  the  fire  to  bake,  and  laid  two  red  herrings  on  the 
coals  to  broil.  They  could  not  afford  a  table-cloth,  for 
those  were  not  the  days  of  cheap  goods,  but  Zoe's  white 
deal  table  did  not  need  one — it  looked  very  nice,  set  out 
with  its  blue  delf-ware.  Zoe  was  happy,  busy,  and  watch- 
fnl.  She  sat  down  to  quilt-piecing,  while  watching  her 
johnny-cake  bake. 

It  is  time  to  describe  this  bonny  small  housewife.  She 
was  a  gentle,  tender  little  creature,  with  a  fair,  delicate 
ikin,  with  soft,  dark  eyes,  and  fine  silky  black  hair,  inclined 
to  curl,  but  plainly  twisted  np.1  She  wore  upon  this  festive 
evening  a  dove-colored  merino  dress,  with  a  black  silk  apron 
and  little  white  collar — these  were  presents  from  her  friend 
"  Brighty,"  who  asseverated  that  a  pretty  child  ought,  some- 
times,  at  least,  to  be  prettily  dressed. 

If  I  were  obliged  to  describe  the  cottage  and  the  young 
cottager  by  one  epithet,  I  should  call  them  clean.  "  So 
neat  and  clean,"  was  the  form  of  praise  every  body  bestowed 
upon  the  little  house  and  the  little  housekeeper,  by  all  tin 


)2  THK     MOTHER    IN-LAW. 

dnd-hearted  neighbors.  "  Yon  might  take  a  fresh  pocket 
handkerchief,  and  wipe  up  the  floor  from  one  end  to  the 
other,  without  soiling  the  cambric,"  would  be  the  assevera- 
tion of  all  the  admiring  matrons  of  the  neighborhood,  when 
holding  pp  the  little  housewife  as  an  example  to  their 
daughters  or  to  their  domestics.  Yes,  the  little  apartment 
was  glittering  with  cleanliness.  And  now,  as  the  day  is 
declining,  th«  sunbeams  smile  into  the  room,  and  the  smile 
is  flashed  back,  here,  and  there,  and  everywhere,  by  the 
bright  brass  candlesticks  on  the  mantelpiece,  by  the  fire- 
irons,  by  the  mirror,  by  the  clear  glass  tumblers,  by  the 
clean  crockery-ware  in  the  corner  cupboard,  and  by  the 
glittering  tea-service  on  the  table.  Lastly,  the  sun  smiles 
archly,  slantingly,  on  the  glistening  little  black  head  and 
nice  gray  dress  of  Zoe,  and,  withdrawing  its  rays,  sinks 
below  the  horizon.  Zoe  has  watched  and  waited  anxiously, 
her  supper  is  ready,  and  it  is  now  quite  time  her  father  was 
in.  She  has  laid  aside  her  work,  and  has  gone  to  the  win- 
dow to  look  out.  The  sky  has  changed,  the  wind  has 
shifted  to  the  east,  and  blown  up  dense  white  snow  clouds — 
a  snow  storm  is  rapidly  coming  on — Zoe  remains  at  the 
window,  anxiously  looking  down  the  foot-path  leading  to 
the  river,  and  hoping  that  before  the  snow  begins  to  fall, 
her  father  may  have  reached  home. 

"  I  wish  he  would  come,"  murmured  Zoe  to  herself. 
"  Oh  I  how  I  do  wish  he  would  come,"  and  she  strained  her 
eyes  down  the  darkening  path.  Then  she  ran  up  stairs, 
and  bringing  down  his  warm,  soft,  wool-lined  slippers,  she 
laid  them  before  the  fire,  and,  taking  out  his  wadded  wrap- 
per from  a  closet  under  the  stairs,  sh«  tamed  the  sleeves, 
and  hung  it  over  the  back  of  the  chair  to  warm.  Then  she 
resumed  her  watch.  Never  did  lady  watch  for  h*r  lover 
with  more  anxiety  than  did  little  Zoe  for  her  old  father. 
The  snow  was  beginning  to  fall  fine — soon  it  thickened, 
•o  that  she  could  not  see  an  inch  from  the  window.  It  wu 


*H1     DOVECOTE     AND     DOVI. 

growing  quite  dark.  She  lighted  a  candle,  and  drew  np 
the  paper  blind,  so  that  he  might  see  the  light  from  the 
house,  as  a^  guide.  "Ah!  I  know  what  keeps  him,"  said 
Zoe  ;  "  he  is  breaking  up  school  for  two  weeks  only,  and 
yet  he  must  give  an  affectionate  farewell  lecture  to  the 
school  in  general,  and  a  loving  exhortation  to  each  pupil 
in  particular,  as  his  or  her  wants  may  require.  Dear 
father  I  It  is  getting  too  dark  now  ;  he  will  lose  his  way ; 
I  must  go  and  meet  him."  And,  rising,  she  ran  up  stairs, 
got  her  cloak  and  hood,  lighted  a  lantern,  and  set  out,  fol- 
lowed by  the  cream-colored  setter,  who  had  risen  and 
stretched  himself,  as  soon  as  he  saw  her  come  down  with 
her  hood  on.  She  walked  on  through  the  whirling  snow, 
the  dog  keeping  closely  at  her  side.  She  reached  the  beach 
where  the  boat  was  usually  tied.  It  was  too  dark  and 
snowy  to  see  anything  beyond  the  short  glare  of  the  lan- 
tern ;  but  she  knew,  of  course,  that  the  little  skiff  was  not 
there — that  the  old  man  had,  that  m»rning,  as  usual,  passed 
asross  the  river  in  it — and  that  it  was  now  moored  on  the 
other  side,  awaiting  him,  if,  indeed,  he  were  not  now 
returning  in  it.  She  walked  down  to  the  edge  of  the  river, 
and  threw  the  glare  of  the  lantern  across  it.  She  could 
see  nothing ;  the  snow  was  freezing  as  it  fell,  and  her  cloak 
was  getting  stiff  with  ice.  Her  feet  were  like  lifeless  clods, 
and  her  hands  so  hard  and  numb,  that  she  could  scarcely 
hold  the  lantern — so  she  hung  it  on  the  branch  of  a  tree,  aa 
a  beacon  light,  and  stood  waiting.  Now  she  could  see  the 
river,  and  the  little  boat  crossing  the  line  of  light  thrown 
by  the  lantern,  and  soon  it  reached  the  beach,  and  soon  a 
crackling  footstep  sounded  on  the  frozen  snow,  and  then 
the  old  man's  hand  was  laid  in  blessing  on  her  head. 

"  G-od  love  thee,  my  dove-eyed  darling  !"  he  said. 

"  Oh  I  father,  your  hands  are  so  cold  1  Lean  on  my  arm, 
and  let  us  make  haste  home.  Supper  is  ready." 


94  THl     MOTHER. I3f-Li.W. 

"  L«an  on  thy  arm,  my  poor  little  girl  I  Walk  on  before, 
with  the  antern,  child,  and  I  will  follow  thee." 

She  obeyed  him.  The  thick  falling  snow  prevented  fur- 
ther conversation,  and  they  entered  the  little  cottage  before 
another  word  was  exchanged  between  them.  Then  Zoe 
dropped  her  own  cloak,  and  helped  her  father  off  with  his 
great  coat,  his  boots,  and  so  forth ;  and  then  she  brought 
him  his  wrapper,  and,  lastly,  the  old  man  sat  down  in  hit 
study-chair,  ran  his  feet  into  the  warm  slippers,  and  stuck 
them  out  to  the  fire — all  without  noticing  Zoe's  new  carpet 
Zoe  was  shaking  and  carrying  off  the  cloaks,  <fcc.,  and  hang- 
ing them  up  in  the  closet  under  the  stairs.  And  then  she 
came  back  and  placed  supper  on  the  table,  and  the  old  man 
turned  around  to  take  his  seat  at  it.  And  now,  when  the 
candle  was  lifted  off  the  mantelpiece,  and  set  upon  the  table, 
and  its  rays  fell  down  upon  the  bright  red  and  green  carpet, 
the  old  man  exclaimed  with  surprise,  "  Why,  Zoe  1" 

"  Yes,  father  I  aint  it  pretty  ?"  said  she,  with  a  smile. 

"  But — but,  where  did  you  get  it,  child  ?" 

"  I  made  it,  father !"  she  replied,  with  honest  exultation. 

"  You,  Zoe,"  exclaimed  the  old  man,  holding  his  coffee- 
cup  half-way  between  the  table  and  his  lips. 

"  Yes,  father ;  me,  Zoe," — playfully  imitating  his  tone. 

44  But  when  ?    Where  ?     How  ?     What  out  of?" 

44  When?  Where?  How?  What  out  of ?  One,  two^ 
three,  four  questions.  First,  when  ? — Through  all  my  lei- 
sure time  for  the  last  month.  Where  ? — Up  in  my  cham- 
ber. How? — With  those  powerful  little  magicians — nee- 
dle, thread  and  scissors.  What  out  of  ? — All  the  irreclaim- 
able old  clothes  that  have  collected  in  the  house  for  many 
years  past,"  replied  Zoe,  with  dancing  eyes,  so  happy  in 
being  able  to  prove  that  the  fine  carpet  was  a  creation  of 
ter  own." 

"Well  done,  my  little  housewife." 

14  Oh,  father,  I  «io  90  love  to  make  thing*." 


THE     DOV1COT1     AND     DOYM.  96 

"You  do?" 

"Yes,  indeed,  father;  but  now,  father,  as  you  hare  cate- 
thised  me,  may  I  not  catechise  you  *" 

"  Presently,  Zoe ;  but  tell  me  first — for  my  examination 
is  not  yet  over,  there  are  other  questions  to  be  asked,  other 
mysteries  to  be  cleared  up — where  did  you  get  that  pretty 
dress  ?  Did  you  make  that,  too  ?  I  never  saw  it  before." 

"No,  father;  I  was  determined  to  christen  my  dress  and 
my  carpet  on  the  same  day — the  day  of  yonr  relief  from 
school-duties — the  commencement  of  our  holidays — to  day." 

"But  you  have  not  told  me  where  you  got  it." 

"  Oh !  from  Brighty.  Miss  Britannia  O'Riley  gave  it  tc 
me." 

"  Miss  Britannia  O'Riley  gave  it  to  you,  my  dear  I  and 
why  did  Miss  O'Riley  give  it  to  yod  ?"  asked  the  old 
schoolmaster  seriously. 

"  Because  she  loves  to  see  me  nice.  Was  it  not  right, 
father  ?" 

"  My  darling,  you  used  sometimes  to  speak  the  truth, 
however  unpalatable  it  might  be  to  Britannia,  did  you  not  7" 

"Yes,  father,  sometimes." 

"When  she  was  sarcastic,  satirical,  irreverent,  you  were 
accustomed  to  keep  a  grave,  serious  face— and  when  she 
would  question  you  on  your  sobriety,  yon  would  reply  with 
truth  that  you  disapproved  of  her  want  of  veneration — were 
you  not  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Yes,  you  performed  that  office  of  friendship  honestly  ; 
but  now  how  would  it  be  ?  Suppose,  now,  in  such  a  caM 
what  would  you  do  ?"  Could  you  still  gravely  rebuke  her 
levity  f" 

Zoe  was  silent  and  thoughtful.     At  last — 

"Answer  me  child  1"  the  old  man  said. 

"Father,  no;  I  should  think  of  all  her  kindness  to  m»—f' 

"Of  K«r«Zm«  to  yoR.'; 


&6  THE     ttOTHKR-IN-LAW. 

Zoe  hang  her  head. 

The  old  man  continued — 

"  And  feel  yourself  a  debtor  and  a  slave  in  her  presence.' 

"  Oh,  Father  I" 

"  Yes,  child,  you  compromise  your  independence,  and 
endanger  your  integrity,  by  accepting  any  favors  from  thos« 
opon  whom  you  can  have  no  possible  claim,  and  whom  yoa 
cannot  hope  to  repay." 

"  Oh,  father,  what  can  I  do  ?  I  cannot  give  it  back  to 
Brighty,  now  that  it  is  made  up  and  has  been  worn ;  that 
would  insult  her.  What  can  I  do  ? 

"Nothing  that  I  know  of,  child;  but  you  must  not  lay 
yourself  under  any  unnecessary  obligations  in  future.  Zoe, 
my  darling,  you  have  nothing  but  yonr  independence  and 
integrity — keep  them.  And  in  regard  to  Miss  O'Riley,  do 
not,  in  the  least,  change  your  manner  toward  her.  Do  net 
indulge  or  flatter  one  foible  of  hers,  because  she  has  made 
you  a  present." 

"  Oh,  father  I  Brighty  would  not  ask  me  to  do  it.  Brighty 
is  noble,  generous,  frank." 

"  But  proud,  satirical,  and  high-tempered.  She  is  of  A 
large  and  highly  wrought  temperament ;  full  of  good  and 
full  of  evil.  She  needs  you,  Zoe,  to  take  part  with  hei 
good  nature  against  her  evil.  Yes,  she  needs  you,  little 
Zoe;  do  not  fail  her." 

"Father,  needs  me — Brighty,  with  so  much  genius,  beauty, 
Bpirit  ?» 

"  Yes,  Brighty,  with  so  much  genius,  beauty,  and  spirit, 
knows  that  she  needs  the  little  humble  Zoe  to  keep  her  in 
mind  of  duty.  Again,  I  say,  do  not  fail  her." 

"Why,  father,  sometimes,  when  she  has  drawn  it  from 
me,  I  have  repeated  your  lectures,  second-hand ;  I  never 
•et  up,  I  never  presumed  to  set  myself  up,  for  Brighty'i 
mentor." 

"  And  that  is  the  reason,  my  dear,  why  ih«  aooepU  700, 


THX     DOVECOTE     AND     DOTS.  97 

toeanse  you  do  not  presume.  Brighty  cannot  defy  a  metk 
and  lowly  "mentor.  Do  you  think  that  if,  instead  of  being 
born  in  the  manger,  Jesus  had  been  born  in  the  purple — if, 
instead  of  taking  the  form  of  a  servant,  he  had  assumed  the 
insignia  of  royalty,  that  his  lessons  of  reverence,  of  humility, 
of  self-denial,  would  have  been  even  so  well  received  as  they 
were  ?  No,  the  pride  of  human  nature  would  have  rejected 
him." 

"  And  yet,  father,  human  nature  is  given  to  worship  all 
the  '  pride,  pomp,  and  circumstance'  of  place,  of  rank,  of 
royalty." 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  but  not  to  hear  from  them,  or  to  profit 
by  lessons  of  humility  and  self-denial.  Those  who  would 
teach  humility  with  effect,  must  first  have  made  themselves 
of  'no  account;'  he  who  would  teach  self-abnegation,  must 
first  have  '  offered  himself  a  sacrifice  for  many  ;'  in  a  word, 
my  dear,  precept  can  only  be  effectually  inculcated  when 
the  sincerity  of  the  preceptor  is  demonstrated  by  his  ex- 
ample. My  love,  whole  libraries  of  sermons,  of  philosophy, 
or  of  ethics,  would  not  do  me  a  tithe  of  the  good  effected 
by  the  reading  of  one  chapter  in  the  life  of  Christ.  But  to 
return  to  Brighty ;  you  are  the  only  one  about  here  who 
can  be  of  real  service  to  her,  and  you  must  not  indulge  her 
faults.  She  herself  will  not  respect  you  any  the  more  for 
it." 

"  Dear  father,  I  am  not  a  man,  and  therefore  I  am  not 
over  anxious  for  the  cold  '  respect'  of  those  I  love  ;  but  you 
gay  true  about  Brighty,  for  the  other  day,  after  she  had 
given  me  this  dress,  she  indulged  her  temper  in  bitter  and 
pungent  sarcasms  leveled  at  Mrs.  Armstrong,  appealing  to 
me  frequently,  and  I — " 

"  Yes — well,  what  did  you  do  7" 

Zoe  was  silent. 

"  Simpered,  instead  of  looking  grave,  I  am  afraid,  mj 


98  TH«     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

"  Something  like  that,  I  am  afraid,  fcther." 

"And  she?" 

"  After  her  temper  fit  was  over,  and  she  had  repented, 
•he  said  to  me — '  Zoe,  why  did  did  you  let  me  go  on  so  ? 
Why  did  you  not  look  at  me  or  touch  me  ?' — that  is  what 
•he  said,  and  she  looked  so  sorry." 

"Ah,  you  had  not  come  np  to  her  help — yon  had  not 
taken  sides  with  her  good  nature  against  her  bad.  What 
withheld  you  ? 

"  I  did  not  like  to  seem  to  blame  her,  just  alter  she 
had " 

"  Laid  you  under  an  obligation  ! — was  that  it  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  I  knew  it,  only  I  wanted  to  hear  you  say  it.  That  WM 
not  gratitude ;  it  was  a  mean  feeling." 

"  Oh,  father,  1  am  not  mean." 

"  It  was  a  mean  feeling,  a  spurious  gratitude.  Every 
virtue  and  every  emotion,  my  love,  has  its  base  counterfeit, 
which  deceives  not  only  its  object  by  hypocrisy,  but  often- 
times its  subject  by  self  deception.  It  made  you  betray 
yonr  trust  for  a  paltry  dress." 

"  Father  I  did  not  mean  to  betray  my  trust,  and  this  is 
not  a  paltry  dress ;  it  is  a  nice,  pretty  dress  :  it  is  such  a 
sweet,  dove-colored  dress ;  I  love  it.  Brighty  said  that  it 
just  suited  me,  and  that  there  was  not  another  girl  in  the 
ralley  who  ought  to  have  it.  But,  father,  I  know  what  I 
will  do ;  Mrs.  Armstrong  is  going  to  give  a  great  dinner 
and  ball,  and  there  are  a  great  many  handsome  dresses  to  be 
made  np,  and  Miss  O'Riley  engaged  me  to  make  three — 
one  for  Mrs.  Armstrong,  one  for  Miss  Armstrong,  and  one 
for  herself.  Now,  when  they  are  completed,  I  will  receive 
payment  only  for  the  first  two,  and  when  Brighty  offers 
to  pay  me  for  hers,  I  will  steadfastly  refuse  to  take  it." 

"  Do  BO,  my  child— that  will  be  right.  But  why  did  you 
»ot  think  of  it  before  P 


fHl     DOVECOTE     AND     DOTB.  99 

"  Because,  dear  father,  I  d'd  want  so  much  to  buy  two 
blankets — one  for  you  and  one  for  me, — and  it  would  tak« 
the  price  of  three  dresses  to  buy  them." 

"  Then,  darling,  you  will  have  to  sacrifice  that  pleasure 
to  allow  for  that  folly,"  said  the  old  man,  benignly. 

After  a  silence  of  some  minutes,  Zoe  said — 

"  Now,  father,  I  am  going  to  put  you  on  the  defensive. 
Father,  what  made  you  stay  out  so  late  ?  You,  at  your 
time  of  life,  keeping  me  so  uneasy — making  my  heart  ache- 
to  say  nothing  of  the  johnny-cake  being  burned,  the  fish 
scorched,  and  the  coffee  boiled  muddy  ?" 

"  My  dear,  perhaps  you  had  better  not  have  asked  me—- 
perhaps it  would  be  better  for  your  cheerfulness  not  to 
know — but  I  never  keep  secrets  from  my  girl ;  she  shall  be 
brave,  and  learn  to  endure ;  then,  Zoe,  two-thirds  of  my 
twelve  pupils  left  school  at  the  end  of  this  term,  being  this 
evening.  If  I  commence  school  again  at  the  first  of  Janu- 
ary, it  will  be  with  four  young  pupils — two  dollars  per 
quarter  pupils.  Do  you  think,  daughter  we  can  live  on 
eight  dollars  a  quarter — that  is,  two  dollars  and  sixty-six 
cents  a  month  ?" 

"  Oh,  Father  1"  said  Zoe,  looking  tearfully  in  his  face. 

"  Poor  little  thing,  it  is  sad  for  you,  my  darling  !" 

"  Oh,  father,  not  for  me — you  did  not  think  I  was  think- 
ing of  myself?  Oh,  no !  I  am  yonng,  I  am  healthy  and 
strong,  and  can  endure.  I  am  young,  and  life  may  change, 
but  you — you  /" 

"  I  am  old,  and  have  not  much  longer  to  suffer  or  to 
enjoy,  darling ;  therefore  it  is  of  little  moment  to  me." 

"  But  oh,  father,  after  your  faithful  life — your  life  of  toil, 
of  self-denial — to  find  yourself  at  seventy  without  a  dollar 
beforehand  !  The  laborer  is  worthy  of  his  hire,  indeed,  but 
the  laborer  has  not  received  it,"  complained  Zoe,  in  a  tonf 


— "  The  day  of  ssttlement  has  not  come  yet,  my  tort.1 


100  THS     MOTHiK-IN-LAW. 

"  Oh,  but  father,  to  think  that  you  should  be  left  go." 

"Zoe,  I  have  lived  seventy  years  in  this  world,  and  never 
Buffered  long  either  for  food  or  for  raiment ;  God,  who  has 
brought  me  to  this  time  of  my  life,  will  not  desert  me  now. 
'  Take  no  thought  for  the  morrow,'  '  sufficient  for  the  day  is 
the  evil  therefore,'  said  the  divine  Master,  and  that  mandate 
does  not  strike  so  much  in  the  light  of  a  command  as  in  that 
of  loving  advice — a  sympathizing  reassurance  from  warm 
and  loving  lips.  Come,  we  will  accept  it  in  all  faith.  Come, 
Zoe,  clear  away  the  things  from  the  table.  Give  me  the 
Bible,  and  take  your  needle- work.  We  have  a  good  fire — 
provision  enough  in  the  bouse  to  last  until  after  New-Year. 
Come,  darling,  we  will  be  faithful — we  will  be  cheerful. 
'The  cattle  upon  a  thousand  hills  are  the  Lord's,'  and  '  He 
knoweth  that  we  have  need  of  all  these  things.'  " 

"  But,  father,"  said  Zoe,  as  she  drew  the  table  up  before 
the  fire  to  the  old  man's  side,  and  set  the  candle,  the  snuffers, 
the  big  Bible,  and  her  little  work-basket  upon  it,  "  father,  I 
do  not  see  a  ray  of  light." 

"  Nor  I  my  dear." 

"  What  are  we  to  do  ?" 

"  Walk  by  faith,  not  by  sight.  People  can  walk  by  sight, 
and  have  no  need  of  faith  when  they  can  see  light.  It  is  iu 
dark  days  alone  that  we  can  exercise  faith.  There,  now, 
take  up  your  sewing,  darling." 

And  Zoe  took  out  her  patch-work,  and  the  old  man  began 
to  read  from  the  Bible  the  parable  of  the  three  sparrows 
Bold  for  a  farthing,  neither  of  which   should  fall  to  the 
ground  without  the  Father,  and  the  same  lesson  in  the  Ser 
mon  on  the  Mount,  and  that  Psalm  of  David  commencing, 
"The  Lord  is  my  shepherd,  I  shall  not  want."     Thus  the 
Did  man  tried  to  fortify  his  soul  against  the  evil  days  to 
come.     He  was  strengthened.     He  closed  the  Bible,  and 
nia  face  was  very  serene — was  holy — was  even  irradiated 
He  fell  into  a  profound  reverie.     Zoe  had  also  fallen  into  f 


fHK     COTXCOTS     AND     DOT*.  101 

reverie,  a  most  painful  reverie.  Zoe  had  not  lived  long 
enough,  suffered  deeply  euo  ^gh,  observed  carefully  enough, 
to  have  taken  note  of  God's  sure  providences,  and  so  she 
had  not  the  cheerful  faith  of  her  adopted  father. 

"  If  this  had  happened  in  summer,  it  would  not  have  been 
so  dreadfal ;  but  in  this  hard,  hard  winter,  oh,  it  is  terrible  I 
what  will  he  do  ?  He  would  not  on  any  account,  receive 
assistance ;  no,  not  a  dollar,  not  a  peck  of  meal." 

So  Zoe  cogitated.  At  last,  seing  her  father  so  silent, 
•he  thought  him  sad  and,  inquired — 

"  Don't  you  find  it  very  lonesome,  father,  with  nobody 
bat  me  here  1" 

"Lonesome,  darling?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  should  think  you  would  be." 

"  Why  do  you  think  so,  Zoe  ?  Is  it  because  you  feel  it 
lonesome  here,  wit-h  no  one  but  me  ?  I  should  not  wonder 
at  you,  nor  blame  you,  darling,  if  it  were  so." 

"He  lonesome,  dear  father ;  no,  never  !  When  you  fall 
into  a  brown  study,  and  don't  want  to  talk,  haven't  I  got 
my  quilt  to  piece  ?  You  don't  know  how  interesting  it  is, 
matching  and  contrasting  these  colors.  See,  for  instance, 
what  a  pretty  hexagon  this  is  ;  the  centre  piece  is  crimson, 
then  white,"  said  she,  laying  the  pieces  on  the  table. 

"  I  sometimes  pity  gentlemen,  because  they  are  not  privi- 
leged to  take  the  interesting,  amusing,  and  sedative  em- 
ployment of  needlework." 

Soon  after  this,  the  old  man  offered  up  the  evening 
prayer,  and  blessing  hia  child,  they  separated  for  the  night. 


CHAPTER  XII. 


Who  thundering  comes  on  blackest  iteed, 

With  slacken'd  bit  and  hoof  of  xpe«d  ? 

Beneath  the  clattering  iron's  sound 

The  cavern'd  echoes  wake  around 

In  lash  for  lash,  and  bound  for  bound  ; 

The  foam  that  streaks  the  courser's  side 

Seem*  gathered  from  the  ocean's  tide. — Byron. 

IT  snowed  all  night.  All  night,  lying  awake  in  Lcr  bed, 
Zoe  heard  the  tinkle,  tinkle  of  the  sleet  against  the  window 
glass.  It  was  day,  but  dark  when  at  last  she  fell  asleep. 
When  she  awoke  the  snn  was  shining  brightly  into  the  lit- 
tle room.  Zoe  arose,  dressed  herself,  looked  out.  The 
storm  had  passed — the  sun  had  risen  in  splendor  on  the 
sleet — the  scene  was  too  dazzling  to  look  upon — the  whole 
ground  sparkling  with  a  coat  of  white  diamond  dust — the 
forest  seemed  an  enchanted  one — the  trees  formed  of  clear 
shining  glass  hung  with  millions  of  pendent  jewels  for  foli 
age.  Zoe  shut  her  eyes  quickly  to  save  their  sight,  and 
when  she  opened  them  again  black  spots  followed  her  glance 
all  around  the  room.  Zoe  went  down  stairs  to  get  break- 
jwt.  Like  a  careful  little  housewife  as  she  was,  she  always 
kept  a  store  of  cut  wood  in  the  shed  at  the  back  of  the  cot- 
tage, in  case  of  any  such  bad  spell  of  weather  as  this.  3he 
went  in  there,  and  getting  an  armful,  carried  it  into  fcba 
room,  and  soon  had  a  nice  warm  fire.  She  fiLed  her  tea- 
kettle, and,  hanging  it  over  the  blaze,  began  to  set  the  ta- 
ble for  breakfast.  It  was  eight  o'clock,  and  her  father  had 
not  yet  come  down.  While  she  was  busied  in  nixing  her 
johnny-cake,  *  sudden  crashing  and  crackEcg,  a  auddea  msL 
(1M) 


"LOBD     LION,     KINO-AT-ABM8."        101 

and  whirr,  a  sudden  shudder  and  quiver  of  the  earth,  ae  at 
the  passage  of  a  railway  train,  and  a  gigantic  rider  on  a 
huge  black  steed  shot  past,  followed  by  two  dogs.  The 
rision  rushed  past  so  quickly,  that  Zoe  had  but  lifted  her 
hand  from  the  meal  and  looked  up,  when  it  was  gone. 
When  she  turned  her  head  again,  it  was  to  see  her  old  fathei 
entering  the  room. 

"  Good  morning,  daughter  I" 

"  Good  morning,  dear  father  1" 

"  What  noise  was  that  ?" 

"  Brutus  Lion  on  his  big  black  horse,  Earthquake,  fol- 
lowed by  his  dogs,  Thunder  and  Lightning." 

"  Ah,  yes  I  he   has  started  a  fox   early  this  morning, 
observed  the  old  man,  sitting  down  before  the  fire,  and  be- 
ginning to  draw  on  his  boots. 

"After  breakfast,  the  old  man,  putting  on  his  hat  and 
taking  his  staff  in  his  hand,  said — 

"  I  am  going  over  to  The  Crags  to  see  the  Major.  He 
has  returned  from  Alexandria,  I  hear  ;"  and  set  out. 

In  fact,  the  old  teacher  could  not  stay  at  home  ;  he  had 
a  childish  delight  in  making  the  most  of  his  holidays.  Zoe 
watched  him  uneasily  down  the  slippery  path,  went  out, 
and  watched  down  to  the  beach,  until  she  saw  him  enter 
the  boat ;  saw  him  safely  cross  the  river,  ascend  the  oppo 
site  bank  and  disappear  far  up  the  road  towards  The  Crags 
Bhe  could  see  him  distinctly  on  the  brilliant  snow,  until  hit 
figure  seemed  a  black  speck  on  a  distant  white  hill.  Sht, 
had  watched  him  past  the  dangers — the  rest  of  the  way  wa§ 
safe  and  easy  on  that  road  ;  and  she  returned  to  the  house 
to  clear  up  the  breakfast-table.  She  set  her  room  in  order, 
went  up  stairs  and  made  the  beds,  returned,  took  out  hef 
"  interesting"  quilt-piecing,  and  sat  down  to  it,  humming  » 
gay  air  to  persuade  herself  that  she  was  happy.  She  sal 
there  sowing  for  hours,  stopping  only  to  replenish  her  fire, 
to  sweep  up  the  Hearth,  or  to  caress  her  tortoUe-chtU 


104  THE     MCTHER-IN-LAW. 


She  sat  there  while  the  sun  had  mounted  high  Vu 
the  heavens,  still  quite  absorbed  in  the  shaping  of  hexagoni 
and  the  matching  of  colors,  until  that  crash  and  crackle, 
the  rush  and  whirr  was  heard,  the  shudder  and  quiver  of 
the  ground  was  felt,  and  the  huge  dark  rider  on  his  gigan- 
tic black  steed  halted  with  a  shock  at  the  door,  sprang 
heavily  to  the  ground,  and,  pushing  open  the  cottage-door,,. 
•trode  in,  and  paused  before  the  young  cottager.  They 
were  a  queer  contrast  —  the  condor  and  the  humming-bird, 
the  elephant  and  the  kitten,  t^e  giant  and  the  fairy,  were 
something  like  it.  Brutus  Lion  stood  six  feet  nine  inches 
in  his  weather-proof  boots.  His  immense  chest  was 
"backed"  by  shoulders  of  corresponding  breadth,  and  over 
them  hung  elf  locks  —  black,  strong,  and  wiry  —  and  above 
thetn  reared  a  haughty  head,  with  strong  marked  American 
Indian  features,  and  Brutus  Lion  boasted  descent  from  one 
of  the  red  natives  of  the  soil.  His  Anglo-Saxon  ancestor 
had  been  a  furious  and  blood-thirsty  republican,  a  regicide 
who  had  sat  upon  the  trial  of  King  Charles  I.,  and  who,  on 
the  accession  of  Charles  II.,  had  escaped  to  Virginia, 
changed  his  name,  assuming  one  that  suited  his  character, 
taken  to  wife  the  daughter  of  a  powerful  sachem,  and  settled 
himself  in  a  defile  of  the  western  precipices  of  the  Allegha- 
nies,  to  which  he  gave  the  significant  name  of  "The  Lair." 
The  Lions  of  the  Lair  were  a  gigantic  race,  and  distin- 
guished in  all  the  wars  of  the  new  world  —  in  savage  war- 
fare, in  the  old  French  war,  and  in  the  Revolutionary 
struggle.  Between  the  wars,  in  the  intervals  of  peace,  they 
were,  both  men  and  women,  "  mighty  hunters  before  the 
Lord."  Now,  the  sole  representatives  of  the  Lion  family 
were  the  giant,  Brntus  Lion,  and  his  sister,  Gertrude,  the 
"Gerfalcon." 

At  55oe  arose  to  welcome  her  visitor,  he  stooped,  and 
placing  his  great  hands  under  hor  arms,  raised  her  np,  and 


LORD     LION,     KINa-AT-ARHi."       106 


tood  her  npon  the  deal  table  facing  him,  and  hi  said 
and  not  till  then  | 

"Good  morning,  humming  bird." 

Zoe  blushed,  langhed,  and  then  blushed  again.  She  WM 
probably  accustomed  to  this  sort  of  treatment. 

''Take  me  down." 

"  I  won't  !  or  if  I  do,  it  will  be  to  stand  you  npon  th« 
mantelpiece  until  I  have  done  talking  to  you  ;  do  you  think, 
dormouse,  that  I  can  break  my  back  in  stooping  to  talk  to 
you  ?" 

"  Oh,  you  are  so  proud  of  your  huge  bulk  ;  you  exagger- 
ate its  necessities  to  make  us  think  it  still  bigger  ;  you 
neein't  to  be.  7,  now,  whom  you  try  to  treat  with  con- 
tempt, I  have  a  right  to  be  proud  of  my  size." 

"  You,  you  grain  of  mustard-seed,  you  1  Why,  pray,  if 
ori3  may  ask  you  ?" 

'•  You  have  hit  it  ;  just  because,  little  as  I  am,  I  am  e 
grain  of  mustard-seed  ;  aud  you,  big  as  you  are,  are  nothing 
but  a  rock." 

Brutus  Lion  was  not  quick-witted  ;  he  only  looked  at  her 
gtupidly,  while  he  searched  for  an  answer. 

"  Oh,"  laughed  Zoe,  "  I  can  take  the  conceit  out  of  you  in 
no  time  at  all,  and  make  you  admire  me  ;  or  at  least  con- 
vince you  that  you  ought  to.  Listen  ;  every  thing  very 
precious  that  God  has  made  is  very  small.  Take  the 
stones  ;  first,  see  how  very  small  and  rare  the  diamonds  are, 
snd  what  immense  piles  of  sandstone  there  be.  And  the 
metals  ;  how  little  gold,  how  much  lead.  And  the  flowers  ; 
bow  riny  the  sweet  violet,  how  tall  the  scentless  sun-flower. 
And  the  birds  ;  how  small  the  skylark,  who, 

"  Singing  still  dost  soar,  and  Bearing,  ever  slngcrt, 

compared  with  the  waddling,  gabbling  great  goose.  And 
the  animals  ;  how  small,  elegant,  and  fiery,  the  tigress,  oom- 
ptred  with  fhe  tame,  servile  dephant.  Ah,  believe  me, 


10«  THB     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

every  thing  rare,  costly — every  thing  beautiful,  elegant — 
every  thing  brilliant,  spicy,  fiery,  is  small.  Men  put  their 
very  piquant  spirits  and  very  precious  perfumery  into  very 
minute  vials,  they  only  put  fish-oil  in  hogsheads.  Oh,  go 
to,  you  are  a  hogshead  !"  laughed  the  little  one. 

The  giant  looked  at  her  from  head  to  foot,  breathed 
hard,  rubbed  mirthfulness,  though  quite  innocent  of  phre- 
nology. 

"Zoe,  you — you —  you  little  witch,  you,  I'll— I'll  marry 
you,  I'll  be  shot  if  I  don't,  only  to  pay  you  for  this  1" 

"I  wish  to  gracious  you  would  1  I  wish  to  goodness  you 
would  !  It  would  be  fun  alive  to  torment  you  to  death." 

"  You  torment  me,  you  little  thing  you  I  you  small  thing, 
you  I" 

"  Yes,  my  dear  giant ;  I  have  seen  a  little  wasp  drive  a 
great  ox  mad  by  buzzing  into  his  face  ;  his  highness  the  ox 
being  utterly  helpless  in  the  case." 

"Ah-h." 

"  Will  you  put  me  down,  now  ?" 

"Indeed  I  am  afraid  to;  I  am  afraid  I  should  inadvert- 
ently put  my  foot  on  you,  if  I  were  to ;  I  never  like  to 
walk  about  where  there  are  little  chickens  or  very  small 
women." 

Then  he  took  her  little  head  between  his  large  hands, 
and  looked  in  her  eyes  as  though  he  wanted  very  much  to 
kis&  them ;  but,  respecting  her  loneliness,  he  lifted  her 
down,  and  she  resumed  her  seat  and  her  quilt-piecing.  He 
drew  the  old  man's  studying  chair  up  before  the  fire,  and, 
seating  himself  in  it,  said — 

"  Are  women  always  sewing,  Zoe  ?  It  used  to  be  carpet- 
rags  you  were  always  cutting  into  strips,  sewing  into  string*, 
and  winding  into  balls.  Now  what  is  itf  I  thought,  to 
be  sure,  when  that  was  done,  there  would  be  no  moro  of  it ; 
BOW,  what  are  you  doing  ?  " 


"LOBD    LION,    LING- AT- IRKS."      107 

"  Making  a  hexagon  quilt — don't  yon  see  ?  It  is  for  f»- 
iner's  bed." 

And  here,  at  the  name  of  father,  the  girl  sighed  heaviij 
and  fell  into  thought. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Zoe  ?  " 

"Oh,  about  father!" 

"And  what  about  him  ?  " 

"  The  people  think  him  too  old,  now,  to  teach,  .and  so 
they  take  his  pupils  from  him.  If  he  recommences  on  the 
first  of  January,  it  will  be  with  only  four  pupiis.  What  is 
he  to  do  ? — what  is  he  to  do  ?  He  has  worn  his  life  out  in 
ceaseless  toil,  and  now,  near  the  close  of  it,  has  not  the 
wherewithal  to  smooth  his  passage  to  the  grave.  To  think 
of  it !  The  incalculable  good  he  has  done  in  this  neighbor- 
hood, and  the  miserable  reward  he  has  got  I  Old  soldiers 
and  old  sailors,  who  have  resigned  the  more  profitable  pur- 
suits of  agriculture,  manufactures,  trade,  or  the  learned  pro- 
fessions, are  remunerated  in  their  old  age  by  the  justice  of 
the  power  they  serve ;  but  the  old  schoolmaster,  who  has 
spent  his  days  in  the  most  laborious  and  the  most  anxious 
of  all  pursuits,  what  is  to  become  of  him,  what  is  to  become 
of  father  ?  "  And  the  tears  trickled  down  Zoe's  cheeks. 

"  Don't  cry,  Zoe,  don't  1  Something  must  be  done  for  him  " 

"  A  hat  carried  round,  I  suppose,"  sneered  Zoe  with  ua- 
•sual  bitterness. 

"  Why,  Zoe  I  what  has  come  over  you  ?  That's  not  like 
you  1  "  exclaimed  the  Colossus  ;  "  when  I  said  that  8ome~ 
thing  must  be  done  for  him,  I  meant,  of  course,  aooielhing 
that  would  not  compromise  his  dignity." 

"And  what  will  that  be  ?  This  neighborhood  owes  him 
a  huge  debt  that  can  never  be  repaid.  He  has  beec  tiio 
missionary,  the  civilizer  of  this  whole  district — yea.  au^  for 
the  matter  of  debt,  they  owe  him  substantial  dollars  and 
cents  ;  not  more  than  two-thirds  of  hia  toi-dieant 
hare  erar  paid  him." 


1 08  THE     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

"These  debts  must  be  collected — their  aggregate  amount 
must  be  considerable.'' 

"  No — he  has  sent  in  his  accounts  once  to  each.  He  is 
delicate  aud  sensitive,  and  will  not  press  those  who,  knowing 
his  condition,  still  put  him  to  the  shame  of  dunning  them," 
complained  Zoe,  wiping  her  eyes,  and  resuming  her  needle 

Brutus  Lion  mused,  sighed,  groaned,  arose  and  walked 
uneasily  about  the  room,  reared  himself  up  against  the 
closed  front-door,  folded  his  arms,  and  watched  Zoe,  ab- 
sorbed in  her  needle-work,  muttered  to  himself,  "I  wish 
Gertrude  Lion,  or  Zoe,  one  of  these  women,  had  some  sense ! 
I  will  not,  however,  indulge  the  folly  of  either  much  longer; 
so  long  as  their  caprice  only  annoyed  me,  I  could  bear  it ; 
but  now  that  it  is  likely  to  injure  Zoe,  it  must  be  corrected." 
Full  five  minutes  he  contemplated  the  rather  pretty  picture 
presented  by  Zoe  at  her  needle-work.  He  resumed,  speak- 
ing aloud — 

"  Study  Latin  now,  Zoe  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  And  Greek  ?" 

"  No.  Father  says  oue  thing  at  a  time ;  and  I  am  to 
(?;;routinue  the  Latin  lessons  this  Christmas,  and  commence 
with  the  Greek  this  New  Year's." 

"  What  time  of  the  day,  Zoe,  does  your  father  give  you 
lessons  ?" 

;i  W  tf  i  he  comes  home  in  the  evening,  he  hears  me  recite 
the  lesson  that  I  have  committed  to  memory  through  the 
day." 

"  And  is  it  a  great  pleasure  to  him  to  teach  you  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  father  has  a  passion  for  the  classics ;  he  growi 
eloquent  in  praise  of  the  Latin,  enthusiastic  in  eulogium  of 
the  Greek.  Latin,  he  says,  ii  the  language  of  heroes,  Greek 
l!  s  tongue  of  gods." 

"  There  is  not,"  mused  the  young  man,  partly  to  himself; 
ytrtly  aloud,  "  much  more  trouble— no,  there  is  positively 


"LOUD     LION,     KIMA-i.T-l.BlCi.1*         100 

lees  trouble  and  more  interest  in  teaching  a  class  of  attentive 
and  intelligent  pupils,  than  in  giving  instruction  to  onej 
and  then  how  much  more  excitement  and  ambition  is  felt  in 
a  class,  where  there  is  rivalry  and  emulation,  than  by  a  oiogle 
pnpil,  Zoe  1" 

"Welll" 

"  Would'ut  he  take  a  class  ?" 

Zoe  looked  perplexed.  She  did  not  understand.  "  Who  f 
What  class  ?" 

"I  have  been  thinking  of  forming  a  Greek  class,  a&i 
getting  your  father  to  take  charge  of  it.  Miss  O'Riley, 
Gertrude,  and  myself,  would  form,  with  you,  a  small,  but 
rather  an  interesting  class  ;  don't  you  think  so  ?" 

Zoe  had  been  arrested  by  his  past  words  to  that  effect, 
and  now  she  was  looking  at  him  with  absorbing  interest. 

"  I  say,  we  all  want  to  learn  Greek — Brighty,  and  Ger, 
and  myself;  and  I  say,  we  are  all  anxious  to  form  a  class, 
and  place  ourselves  under  the  instruction  of  your  father. 
Now  do  you  comprehend  ?" 

"  I  do  understand  you,  good  Brutus.  I  understood  you 
all  the  time,  dear  Brutus !  How  you,  who  detest  bookg, 
and  loath  study,  should  contract  for  four  or  five  mortal 
hours  of  close  application  a  week,  for  the  benevolent  pur- 
pose of  serving  my  father,  without  wounding  his  love  of 
independence.  Don't  I  know,  dearest  Brutus,  how  much 
easier  it  would  be  for  you  to  send  him  five  hundred  dollars, 
and  have  the  Greek  lessons  off  your  mind,  than  to  put  your- 
self to  school,  and  pay  for  your  lessons  1  God  bless  you, 
best  Brutus  1" 

Through  all  this  earnest  acknowledgement  of  Zoe,  Brutal 
Lion  sat  there  like  an  enormous  baby  receiving  a  chiding, 
with  his  huge  frame  all  unnerved,  quivering-  to  dissolution 
like  a  mammoth  jelly,  under  the  influence  of  Zoe's  glorifica- 
tions. At  her  conclusion  he  stooped,  took  up  the  tortoiw- 
thell  kitten,  and  '^egan  to  caress  it  Praise  embarrassed 


110  THI     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

Brutus.  Zoe's  praise  overwhelmed  him.  Dropping  tht 
kitten,  he  stood  dp,  his  great  eyes  rolled — "  I  will  see  yon 
again  about  that,  Zoe,"  he  said,  in  a  high  assumed  voice, 
by  way  of  proving  his  self-possession.  He  then  rushed  from 
the  cottage,  mounted  his  horse,  and  was  soon  out  of  sight. 

Zoe  stole  to  to  the  little  window,  and  looked  after  him 
until  r.der  and  horse  had  vanished  from  sight. 

"I  think  it  will  do  him  good  to  study,  and  that  is  the 
reason  I  will  not  interfere  with  the  method  of  his  benevo- 
Isnce,"  thought  the  little  maiden ;  and  all  the  while  her 
eyes  were  dancing,  and  fitful  smiles  were  chasing  each  other 
across  her  cheeks.  Ah  1  there  were  too  many  pleasant 
points  about  this  projected  class-meeting,  for  the  sobriety 
of  Zoe.  First,  a  relief  for  an  indefinite  period  of  time,  from 
the  pressure  of  pecuniary  want  upon  her  father.  Then  the 
employment — the  interest  it  would  afford  him;  and  "last, 
iiot  least,"  the  certain  enjoyment,  for  at  least  three  days  in 
the  week,  of  the  society  of  Brighty,  and — and — but  we  will 
not  betray  her.  Perhaps  it  was  the  Gerfalcon,  whose  com- 
pany she  next  coveted.  She  longed  for  the  return  of  her 
father. 

"  Oh !  I  wish  he  would  come  home  before  evening,  so 
that  I  might  tell  him,  and  pave  him  a  day's  gratuitous 
anxiety.  Oh  I  how  I  do  wish  he  would."  But  Zoe's  wish- 
ing did  not  bring  him  any  sooner.  She  plied  her  needle 
briskly,  her  fingers  receiving  a  new  impetus  from  hope.  At 
twelve  o'clock  she  arose  and  made  her  dinner  of  a  slice  of 
cold  johnny-cake,  and  then  resumed  her  work.  When  the 
sun  was  declining,  she  arose,  put  away  her  work,  and  began 
to  prepare  their  little  frugal  supper,  knowing  that  at  least 
ber  beloved  father  would  be  home  to  that  meal,  which  he 
never  missed.  Upon  the  strength  of  her  new  hopes,  Zoe 
committed  an  extravagance — cooked  a  chicken,  and  made 
wheaten  biscuits  for  supper.  And  she  set  the  table  and 
dreued  herself  in  her  pretty  dove-colored  frock,  and  sat  at 


"LOBD     LION,     KING-JLT-ABMS."        Ill 

ths  window,  watc_ing  for  the  old  man.  At  last  she  saw 
him  descending  the  hill  that  led  from  Mont  Crystal.  She 
wondered  at  that,  having  expected  his  approach  up  from 
the  path  that  led  from  the  river  where  he  crossed  every  day. 
She  surmised  that  he  had  taken  the  Isle  of  Raya,  and  Mont 
Crystal,  on  his  return ;  and  this  was  the  fact.  The  old 
man,  with  the  new  liberty  of  his  holiday,  had  spent  the  day 
in  making  calls  upon  his  present  patrons,  or  his  former 
pupils.  With  his  childlike  faith  and  carelessness,  the  old 
man  had  forgotten  anxiety  for  the  future,  in  enjoyment  of 
the  present.  "He  had  no  thought  for  the  morrow"  upon 
this  day,  at  least ;  and  now  he  was  coming  down  the  hill, 
supporting  himself  in  the  descent  by  holding  the  stick 
before  him,  and  wearing  the  very  peace  of  Heaven  on  his 
brow,  down  on  either  side  of  which  the  silver  hair  flowed 
upon  his  old  brown  coat  Zoe  ran  out  to  meet  him 
Delighted  by  the  divine  tranquillity  that  rested  on  his  beauti- 
ful face,  Zoe  exclaimed,  taking  both  his  hands — 

"  Oh,  you  have  heard,  then,  father  1" 

"  Heard  what,  my  child  ?" 

"  Oh  !  you  have  not  heard,  then  !  I  thought  yon  had, 
by  your  looks,  and  I  felt  glad  that  you  had  been  spared  a 
day's  anxiety,"  said  Zoe,  standing  by  the  side  of  the  old 
man,  and  drawing  his  arm  around  her  neck,  so  that  it  was 
supported  upon  her  other  shoulder. 

"But  what  is  it,  my  child?"  he  asked,  looking  gently 
down  into  her  eyes.  "  It  is  some  good  news,  Zoe,  I  sap- 
pose,  by  your  glad  looks." 

"Yes,  it  is  some  good  news,  and  concerns  you. 

"  Some  of  my  old  pupils  coming  back  ?" 

"  Yes,  father,  some  of  your  very  old  pupils  coming  back 
—you  guessed  it  so  quick — did  you  know  it  ?  I  thought 
you  did,  by  your  looking  so  peaceful  and  happy." 

"  It  was  the  influence  of  nature  acting  under  my  Father, 
•y  iore  Zoe  I  look  «t  that  setting  sun  ;  it  has  langoagi 


112  THB     MOTHER -IK -LAW. 

—eloquence,  to  me.  I  climbed  up  the  other  eide  of  thii 
hill — wearily,  heavily — and  the  ,sun  was  in  a  cloud.  I 
thought  oe  the  toil  by  which  I  had  reached  the  summit  of 
my  life,  the  top  of  the  hill — it  was  very  gloomy,  and  I  looked 
down  the  descent  of  the  hill  as  I  contemplated  the  decline 
into  the  vale  of  years,  feeling  that  in  both  progresses  my 
only  care  should  be  to  prevent  myself  from  falling  precipi- 
tately and  prematurely  down.  Then  I  put  out  my  stick, 
and  began  to  descend  cautiously.  It  was  very  dark  in  the 
ralley,  so  that,  with  ray  dim  eyes,  I  could  not  distinguish 
the  shade  of  a  bush  from  a  hole  in  the  ground,  when  lo! 
the  sun  broke  through  the  dense  blue  cloud,  and  smiled  in 
my  face  !  and  smiled  on  my  head  1  What  could  I  do  but 
lift  my  face  and  smile  back,  Zoe  ?  It  glowed,  all  over  this 
rich  scene — it  glowed  all  over  me — it  glowed  all  through 
me  ;  what  could  my  heart  do  but  buru  within  mo,  Zoe  ?  It 
iaid,  '  Bless  you,  bless  you  !'  so  softly — so  brightly.  What 
could  I  answer  but  '  I  am  blessed  !  I  am  blessed  !' "  Zoe 
was  walking  by  his  side,  looking  up  in  his  face  with  deep 
reverence.  "  Do  but  observe  the  scene  before  yon,  Zoe,'» 
and  the  two  children — the  silver-haired  man,  and  the  raven- 
locked  maiden — paused  reverently  to  receive  the  large,  full 
deep  benedicite  of  nature.  It  was  not  strange,  then,  that 
the  old  man's  mind  could  not  fasten  on  the  necessities  of  hix 
position.  They  had  descended  the  hill,  reached  the  cottage 
and  entered  it,  before  he  said — 

"  And  now,  Zoe,  what  about  new  pupils  ?" 
"Yon  are  to  have  a  class  of  grown-up  pupils,  if  yon 
will  take  charge  of  them.  Brutus  Lion  and  his  sister  and 
Brighty  O'Riley  wish  to  come  and  learn  Greek.  Ob, 
father  I  it  will  be  so  mf  eh  better  than  your  school.  They 
will  attend  you  here,  so  that  you  need  not  have  to  go  out 
in  all  weathers.  The  plan  is  not  quite  mature  yet,  for  they 
will  need  to  consult  you  about  the  most  convenient  days 
and  houi-i  and  about  the  fee«,  Ac.,"  »aid  Zoe,  af  she  helped 


"LOBD   LION,    KINQ- A.T- ASM*.'     Ill 

the  old  man  off  with  his  overcoat  He  was  in  deep  thought 
He  did  not  reply  to  her  until  they  were  seated  at  the  table. 
He  did  not  observe  the  new  luxuries  of  the  broiled  chicken 
and  biscuits  until  he  had  asked  a  blessing.  Then,  when 
stretching  forth  his  hand  to  help  himself  to  bread,  he 
looked  np  smilingly  at  Zoe,  and  glanced  back  at  the 
platter. 

"  Yea,  father,"  she  said,  "yes;  I  consider  we  are  able  to 
eat  wheat  bread,  now." 

"  Little  darling,"  he  said,  "  if  we  had  lived  by  faith, 
rather  than  by  sight,  we  would  have  thought  ourselves  able 
to  eat  wheat  bread  yesterday.  Little  darling,  it  is  well  not 
to  waste  our  daily  supply  ;  but  when  we  have  only  enough, 
barely  enough  for  our  daily  comforts,  we  should  appro- 
priate the  whole  to-day  and  trust  the  Divine  Providence 
for  to-morrow.  You  have  been  growing  thin  and  pale, 
Zoe,  by  not  taking  nourishment  enough.  There  is  a  slow 
starvation,  Zoe,  as  well  as  a  rapid  one.  You  have  bees 
starving  yourself  from  want  of  faith ;  from  want  of  faith  in 
your  Heavenly  Father, — in  your  kind  Heavenly  Father, 
who  loves  you,  and  will  take  care  of  you  all  your  life.  Oh, 
Zoe  1  I  am  moved  to  tell  you,  my  darling,  always  to  trust 
God — even  unto  death.  Faith  is  worth  nothing,  if  it  doei 
not  go  beyond  the  grave.  See,  Zoe,  yon  have  had  enough, 
and  barely  enough,  to  live  on  for  the  last  three  montas— . 
that  is,  October,  November,  and  December ;  but  you  were 
afraid  that  we  should  have  nothing  for  January,  February, 
and  March,  and  so  you  denied  yourself  proper  nutriment 
and  have  suffered  a  waste  of  flesh  and  health  and  energy 
which  it  will  take  some  time  to  repair.  If  yon  had  had 
faith,  Zoe,  yon  would  have  been  in  a  better  condition  now. 
But  no,  darling;  you  said  to  yourself:  'It  is  true  that  we 
have  enough  for  this  autumn,  and  only  enough ;  but  if  I  do 
not  pinch  this  fall,  we  may  perish  with  want  next  winter 
Did  700  not,  Zoe  ?» 


114  THX     MOTHSR-I3-LJLW. 

"  Yes,  father ;  I  forgot  that  '  sufficient  unto  the  day  if 
the  evil  thereof;'  but  I  remember  that  poor  people  do 
sometimes  perish  by  want." 

"  Never,  darling  1  No  one  ever  perishes  by  want,  or 
any  other  agent.  They  pass  hence, — who  can  conceive  to 
what  comfort  ?  to  what  joy  ?  Go  en  calmly,  Zoe  :  'take  no 
thought  for  the  morrow  1'  Trust  God  through  everything; 
through  all  things ;  even  through  the  prospective  horror* 
of  a  death  from  starvation — believing  even  that  to  be  a 
dark  passage  to  a  bright  world.  Life  is  made  up  of  mo- 
ments. Eternity  is  made  up  of  moments.  Be  innocently 
nappy  with  all  the  means  and  appliances  God  has  given 
you  in  the  present,  and  trust  hire  with  your  future.  There 
is  no  danger  that  he  will  forget  you.  He  '  knoweth  that 
you  have  need  of  these  things.'  Do  not  stint  yourself, 
Zoe,"  continued  the  old  man,  elocutionizing  his  words  by 
helping  himself  to  a  whole  side  of  the  chicken  ;  "  do  not 
stint  yourself,  Zoe.  It  was  not  until  the  multitude  had 
eaten  and  were  filled,  that  the  fragments  were  gathered  up. 
The  dependence,  the  faith,  the  wisdom  of  little  children  are 
often  held  up  to  our  view  by  the  Divine  Master.  The  pa- 
rents of  a  little  child  give  it  just  enough  for  one  meal.  It 
is  satisfied,  happy ;  consumes  the  whole  without  fear  of 
wanting  another.  But  what  would  you  think  of  the  child 
who,  when  its  mother  had  given  it  a  piece  of  bread,  just 
enough  to  satisfy  hunger  for  the  time  being,  should  deny 
himself,  and  putting  aside  half  of  it  should  say,  '  I  shall  be 
hungry  again,  and  I  am  not  sure  my  mother  will  give  m« 
bread.'  Would  it  not  be  monstrous — revolting  ?  Well, 
just  as  monstrous,  just  as  revolting,  is  our  habitual  mani- 
festation of  distrust  of  our  Divine  Parent.  I  an  not  ;oun- 
leling  you  against  economy,  but  for  economy  in  this ;  for 
was  it  not  bad  economy,  dear  child,  to  have  consumed  your 
flesh  and  saved  yonr  means  ?  Is  it  not  bad  economy  for  a 
nun  to  devote  himself  so  exclusively  to  business  as  to  waste 


"LOBD   LION,    KINO  AT-ABMS."     116 

health  and  strength,  for  the  sake  of  saving  time  and  making 
money  ?  Great  labor,  great  parsimony,  are  not  either  of 
them  economy.  The  proper  limitations  of  getting  and 
keeping  are  your  own  necessities  and  the  rights  of  others. 
For  instance, — a  man,  in  overworking  himself,  frequently 
both  injnres  bis  own  health  and  deprives  some  one  else  of 
*  share  of  labor  necessary  to  his  support.  In  saving,  a 
snan  too  often  hoards  away  that  which  is  absolutely  neces- 
sary to  the  preservation  of  his  own  health  and  strength,  or 
jis  neighbor's  life.  That  is  not  right.  Self-preservation 
is  the  first  law  of  nature,  and  should  be  obeyed.  Next,  the 
superfluous  coat  or  cloak  should  be  given  to  him  that  had 
none.  But  you  are  not  drinking  your  coffee,  Zoe ;  drink 
your  coffee,  child ;"  and  the  old  man,  enforcing  precept  by 
example,  addressed  himself  to  his  supper,  and  did  not  speak 
again  until  near  its  conclusion,  when  he  said, — 

"  Yes,  I  am  glad ;  I  am  thankful  for  this  light  arising 
out  of  darkness  ;  though  I  knew  before  it  dawned  that  the 
Lord  would  not  forget  his  old  servant.  Yes,  I  like  it.  It 
will  be  pleasant  to  teach  Greek  to  intelligent  and  appreci- 
ating pnpils.  It  will  be  pleasant  to  be  able  to  remain  at 
home,  and  receive  the  young  people  by  my  own  fireside  I 
Yea,  it  is  all  pleasant  1"  and  the  old  man  arose  from  the 
table,  and  settled  himself  in  his  large  arm-chair  for  the 
whole  evening. 

Zoe  cleared  away  the  tea-things  from  the  table,  drew  it 
up  to  the  fire,  and  seating  herself  on  the  opposite  side, 
drew  out  a  half-finished  purse  and  began  to  knit  on  it 
The  old  man  was  less  abstracted  than  usual. 

"What  is  it  thee's  doing,  Zoe  f"  he  said. 

He  was  frcrn  Pennsylvania  originally,  and  whenever  hif 
mood  was  peculiarly  tender  1 3  fell  into  his  Quaker  dialect 

"  What  is  it  thee's  doing,  Zoe  7" 

*•'  Kuhting  a  purse,  dear  father." 
A  Christmas  offering,  darling  f 


116  THI     MOTHER- 1  3-LAW. 

"  Yes,  father." 

"  Dear  child,— I  know  who  it  is  for !"  exclaimed  the  old 
uian,  looking  in  her  face  with  so  ranch  benevolent  affection, 
bat  so  expressive  of  "  it  is  for  her  old  father,"  that  the  rose- 
clouds  rolled  up  over  Zoe's  face.  He  smiled  at  her  embar- 
rassment. She  could  not  bear  to  deceive  him. 

"Dear  father,"  she  said,  "  I  have  got  something  for  you  : 
•omething  nice — something  better  than  this ;  but  this  is  foe 
— for — for  Brutus." 

A  pause,  a  deep  silence,  ensued.  Zee  was  silent  from  em- 
barrassment ;  the  old  man,  apparently,  from  deep  thought. 

At  last  he  said,  "  Come  hither,  Zoe  ;"  and  she  came. 

"  Sit  on  my  knee,  Zoe ;"  and  she  sat. 

He  drew  her  arms  around  his  neck,  and  taking  her 
face  between  his  venerable  palms,  held  it,  looking  into 
her  eyes, — 

"  Does  thee  love  Brutus  Lion,  Zoe  ?" 

Her  eyes  fell,  her  cheeks  crimsoned ;  she  remained  silent ; 
ho  steadily,  lovingly  gazing  on  her. 

"  Does  thee,  Zoe  ?" 

She,  with  her  deep  veneration,  forced  herself  to  reply, — 

"  Father,  on  my  soul's  honor  I  do  not  know !  I  know 
the  full  depth  of  meaning  in  your  question,  and  would  n*t 
trsat  it  with  levity  or  evasion,  but — I  do  not  know." 

"  Does  he  lore  you  J" 

••'  Yes,  sir." 

''  Howvdo  you  know  ?" 

"He  has  told  me  so  many,  many  times." 

"When?" 

"  Oh,  often  !     I  could  not  tell  you  how  often." 

"  He  was  here  this  morning  P 

•Yes,  sir." 

'  Did  he  tell  you  he  loved  you  this  morning  f " 

'Yes,  sir,"  replied  Zoe,  the  Hood  burning  in  •.*  cheek 
m  though  it  would  take  fire. 


"LORD     LION,     KING-AT-Aim»."       117 

"What  did  he  say,  Zoe  ?"  ask  3d  the  old  man,  caresi- 
.ngly. 

Zoe  started,  mused,  grew  pale,  then  flushed  to  her  very 
brow. 

"  What  did  he  say,  Zoe  ?"  persisted  the  old  man,  strok- 
ing her  hair. 

"  Father,  he  said — nothing!" 

The  old  man  looked  gravely  in  her  face 

"What  do  you  mean,  my  darling  ?" 

Zoe  was  covered  with  confusion,  she  bowed  her  face  in 
his  sheltering  bosom,  and  he  felt  the  tears  on  his  neck. 

"Zoe!" 

"  Father !" 

"  Tell  me  what  is  the  matter,  my  darling." 

But  Zoe  seemed  overwhelmed  with  humiliation.  She 
eonld  not  raise  her  head  or  look  him  in  the  face.  He  lifted 
np  her  head,  and  kissed  her  on  the  brow.  She  drew  a  long 
breath,  dashed  away  the  tears  and  looking  at  him  long  and 
earnestly  in  the  face,  said — 

"  Father,  I  would  not  deceive  yon  willfully — would  I  ?*' 

"No,  my  darling  child." 

"  Thank  you  for  saying  that,  dear  father !  Yet,  father,  I 
have  unwittingly  deceived  you,  because  I  first  deceived  my- 
self. You  dispelled  the  illusion  by  asking  me  '  what  did  he 
•ay?'" 

"I  understand  it  all,  my  child.  The  love-tuned  voice, 
the  love-beaming  eye,  speak  a  language  stronger,  more  elo- 
quent, more  convincing,  than  words — and  maidens  receive 
it  in  all  faith.  And  many  an  honest  and  honorable  man 
will  hold  himself  guiltless  of  the  wounded  heart  that  thea* 
only  have  won.  Bat,  Zoe,  you  are  thoroughly  convinced 
that  Brutus  loves  you,  and  you  are  not  sure  whether  yo« 
return  hia  affection.  How  la  that,  Zoe  ?" 

"Dear  father,  I  do  not  love  to  talk  of  it." 

"  Tour  heart  folds  its  leaves  like  the  sensitive  plant,  even 
7 


118  THE     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

at  your  father's  tonch,  dear  Zoe  !  why  can  you  /id  unbosom 
yourself  to  me  ?  You  think  me  old  and  cold.  Ah,  Zoe,  the 
heart  that  has  not  done  or  suffered  great  wron/  is  never  old 
or  cold.  Child !  my  hair  is  white  as  snow,  you  see,  mj 
cheeks  are  withered  and  fallen,  and  my  eyes  are  sunken  and 
Tery  dim — yet,  Zoe  under  this  shriveled  bosom  is  a  fresh, 
young  heart,  and  shrined  in  that  heart  is  an  image,  which  ia 
also  a  fountain  that  keeps  it  green — the  image  of  a  dear  girl 
I  loved  in  youth,  Zoe,  and  have  loved  all  my  life.  She 
went  to  Heaven,  child,  but  has  not  even  there  forgotten  me. 
She  ministers  to  me  often  ;  she  communes  with  me  always. 
If  I  were  to  attempt  to  prove  this  to  yon,  Zoe,  you  would 
think  the  old  man  fanciful.  I  reveal  this  to  give  you  courage 
to  give  me  your  confidence,  Zoe ;  that  you  may  not  think 
youth  and  old  age,  white  hair  and  black,  separate  hearts 
too  far  for  sympathy.  Now,  then,  Zoe,  tell  me — I  have 
a  motive  for  asking  you — how  do  you  feel  towards  thii 
man  ?» 

"  Father,  I  think  of  him  as  of  no  one  else.  He  seems 
separated  and  set  apart  from  all  the  rest  of  the  world. 
Every  face  and  form,  however  beautiful,  elegant,  graceful,  it 
may  be,  seems  to  me  common,  vulgar,  by  the  side  of  him." 

"  fet,  Zoe,  he  is  not  beautiful,  elegant,  or  graceful  f " 

"  I  am  not  a  coward  or  a  fool,  am  I  father  ?  yet  when  he 
comes  into  the  room — " 

"Well?" 

She  sank  her  voice  to  its  lowest  tones,  and  murmured — 

"  I  tremble  all  over  ;  and  sometimes  talk  nonsense,  with 
out  knowing  what  words  I  am  using." 

"  And  sometimes,  Zoe,  you  laugh  and  talk  with  him  cheer 
fully  and  sensibly  enough." 

"  Yes,  sir !  but,  father !  that  is  when  he  chooses  to  be 
gay ;  but,  if,  in  the  midst  of  that  gayety,  he  suddenly  stops, 
and  only  looks  me  in  the  face,  I  fall  into  gravity,  life  be- 
rery  serious,  very  solemn,  very  real  to  m«.  Mirth 


"LOBD     LION      KINQ-AT-^BMS."       119 

•eems  mockery,  laughter  seems  levtLy.  No  man's  eye  affect* 
my  soul  so,  father." 

14  This  is  a  very  painful  influence,  is  it,  Zoe  ?" 

"  Oh,  no,  father  1  It  is  deep,  sweet,  solemn,  like  a  chnrch 
chant." 

"Zoel" 

"Well,  father." 

"  You  love  Brutus  Lion,  and  you  can  never  become  hii 
wife." 

"  Father !" 

"Never,  Zoe." 

"  But  I  did  not  expect,  I  did  not  hope  to  ;  I  am  sur*  I 
did  not." 

"  He  is  of  an  old  and  haughty  family — you,  Zoe,  are  m 
foundling." 

"  I  know  it,"  murmured  the  maiden. 

"  Yet  you,  in  your  secret  heart,  hoped  that  this  might  b« 
overcome  ;  that  he  might  stoop  to  lift  you  to  bis  level — on 
your  truth,  did  you  not  ?" 

Zoe  bowed  her  head  lowly,  sadly. 

"  He  is  wealthy,  you  are  penniless ;  but  you  thought  never 
of  this  as  an  objection,  but  believed  that  his  superfluities 
might  supply  your  deficiencies.  Ha,  child  ?" 

Again  she  bowed  her  head,  slowly,  lowly. 

"All  this  might  happen,  Zoe — the  patrician  might  stoop 
to  the  plebeian ;  the  millionaire  to  the  beggar.  Brutoi 
Lion  might  offer  his  hand  and  name  in  marriage  to  Zoe, 
yet  Zoe  can  never  be  the  wife  of  Brutus  Lien—" 

"  Father  I" 

"  It  is  true." 

"Father!" 

"It  is  fixed,  inevitable,  irrevocable." 

"Oh!  father." 

"  Zoef"  said  the  old  man,  rebukingly,  "  ha*  h«  ever  uk«d 
you  to  tw  hii  »\fe  T ' 


120  THE     M  OTHER-IN-LAW. 

"  No,  father, '•  said  she,  speaking  with  more  spirit  than 
usual,  as  if  in  defense  of  oue  whose  honor  she  felt  was  in  some 
way  implicated  in  this  conversation  ;  "  no  father,  but  he  will. 
He  loves  me,  father,  although  he  never  has  said  so  in  set 
terms.  What,  indeed,  would  be  the  use  of  set  terms  be- 
tween us  two  ?  I  deceived  myself  only  in  thinking  that  ht 
•rer  said  so,  not  in  the  fact  itself;  and,  father,  I  honor  him, 
I  believe  in  him,  if  I  believe  in  any  person  or  thing  in 
heaven  or  on  earth.  But,  how  am  I  talking  !  Oh  !  dear 
father  !  how  am  I  talking  1  It  is  so  strange,  is  it  not,  for 
me  to  be  talking  so  !  But  you  draw  everything  out  of  me, 
father.  Well  I  go  on." 

"  You  love  Brutus  Lion ;  he  loves  you.  He  will  offer 
you  his  hand  ;  you  will  accept  it.  Yet  you  will  never  be  his 
wife." 

"  Father — will  you  object  to  it  ?" 

"  My  child— yes." 

"  Again,  father — why  ?" 

"  An  insurmountable  obstacle  to  your  union  exists,  my 
dear,  said  the  old  man,  with  the  tears  dimming  his  eyes." 

"  Father,'"  said  Zoe,  in  a  suffocating  voice,  "  father,  I  am 
a  foundling,  as  you  say — do  you  know  or  guess — that  I  am 
of — of — very  near  kin  to  Brutus  ?" 

"  You  are  no  kin  t^  him,  Zoe ;  but  it  is  not  less  cert*ii 
that  you  eau  never,  never  be  his  wife." 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

BRITANNIA. 

Around  her  playful  lips  do  glitter 

Heat-lightnings  of  a  girlish  wora ; 
Harmless  they  are,  for  nothing  bitter 

In  that  dear  heart  wac  ever  born. 
That  merry  heart,  that  cannot  H« 
Within  its  warm  nest  qnietly, 
Bnt  ever,  from  tbe  fall,  dark  eye, 

Is  looking  kindly  night  and  morn.—  Wilii*. 

"  THIS  lady's  arrogance  grows  intolerable,  insupportable^ 
insufferable  1"  exclaimed  Britannia  O'Riley,  flinging  open 
her  chamber-door,  entering  hastily,  and  walking  np  and 
down  the  floor  in  excitement. 

It  was  after  some  such  scene  as  that  of  the  drawing-room, 
described  in  a  former  chapter. 

"  She  treats  me  with  more  hauteur  than  sne  showg  the 
lowest  of  her  slaves,  for  the  simple  reason  that  she  thinks  it 
impossible  one  of  them  should  presume  on  her  clemency, 
and  she  fears  it  quite  possible  /  might  I  I  cannot  endur* 
it  1  this  slow,  cold,  snow-fall  of  petrifying  pride,  congealing 
as  it  descends.  I  wonder  it  does  not  dampen  and  chill  me ! 
I  wonder  it  does  not  freeze  me  into  apathy — into  death ! 
Or  I  should  wonder,  if  I  did  not  recollect  that  the  avalanche 
of  ice  and  snow  heaped  on  Vesuvius's  summit  dots  not 
quench  the  fire  in  its  bosom,  does  not  prevent  it  breaking 
out  into  a  blaze,  and  burying  a  city  or  a  province  in  its 
lava  I  I  am  on  the  eve  of  an  eruption,  and  Herculaneum 
(which  is  Mrs.  Armstrong)  does  not  know  it.  Yes ;  Mrt. 
Armstrong  kindles  the  fire  in  my  bosom,  fans  it  to  flame, 
and  I  tremble  or  the  verge  of  an  explosion  every  moment 

(111) 


122  *H»     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

I  shall  blow  ont  soon  ;  I  know— I  feel  I  shall ;  and  thea 
how  the  hot  fire  of  my  anger  will  fuse,  scorch  np,  and  an- 
nihilate this  lady's  pride." 

Brighty's  strong  melo-dramatic  mood  was  foaming  np ; 
effervescing  into  comedy  already.  Her  good  humor  was  re- 
turning. 

"After  all,  I  would  not  mini  it  if  I  could  entirely  keep 
my  temper.  It  is  unpleasant  to  remember  that  I  have  said 
sharp,  sarcastic  things  to  a  lady  of  her  age  and  standing — 
and  she  is  a  lady,  with  all  her  grave  faults  ;  and  grave  faults 
they  are,  capable,  I  sometimes  think,  of  leading  to  great 
crimes." 

She  paused  and  turned  around,  facing  a  picture  that  at- 
tracted, magnetized  her.  It  was  Cordelia,  with  her  fair  brow, 
serious  eyes,  and  sweet  lips.  She  gazed  deep  down  into 
the  face,  spell-bound. 

"  There  is  a  filial  piety  free  from  the  superstition,  the  morbid 
excess  that  characterizes  that  of  our  Louise.  Cordelia 
eould  live,  labor,  or  die,  for  her  father,  but  could  not  flatter 
one  weakness  of  the  old  king.  I  wish  I  had  your  meekness, 
Cordelia,  as  well  as  your  frankness ;  then  I  should  be  able  a 
to  bear  this  lady's  haughtiness  better  than  I  do. 

"  I  go  to  chnrch  on  Sunday  morning,  and  I  hear  a  good 
sermon,  and  I  come  home  thoughtful,  fully  determined  to 
conquer  my  own  spirit  to  get  a  victory  over  my  besetting 
lin.  Well,  I  am  gentle  all  day.  At  night,  lying  awake,  I 
act  over  all  the  scenes  in  which  Mrs.  Armstrong  is  certainly 
to  play  the  supercilious — I,  (possibly,)  to  play  the  meek 
and  lowly  in  spirit.  Very  well.  Monday,  I  keep  guard 
on  myself.  Tuesday,  I  grow  tired  of  the  sentinelship. 
Wednesday,  Mrs.  Armstrocg  does  or  says  something  offen- 
sive to  me.  I  am  on  fire  ;  I  forget  meekness ;  I  only  re- 
member courage,  spirit,  heroism,  and  I  give  her,  in  return, 
a  small  hint  of  what  I  may,  and,  I  am  afraid,  shall  giro  her 
one  of  these  lays,  if  I  do  not  grow  in  grace  farter  th&a  I 

MSfTOWifif. 


BRITANNIA.  12S 

I  would  there  were  preaching  three  times  a  week.  I 
cannot  remember  to  be  good  fr:>m  one  Sunday  to  another. 
Or  I  wish,  oh,  how  I  wish,  some  middle-aged  preacher  had 
married  me  when  I  was  fifteen.  I  am  afraid  a  preacher 
would  have  a  terrible  home  with  me  now!  And  yet  this  ia 
a  poor  way  to  pass  life.  Even  suppose  I  shall  live  to  b* 
threescore  and  ten.  I  have  passed  one-third  of  that  time, 
and  what  have  I  done  for  God,  for  my  neighbor,  or  even  for 
myself?  Nothing!  I  wish  I  could  be  sure  that  I  had  been 
of  any  real  service  to  Louise  in  teaching  her  to  read  bad 
French  and  worse  Italian.  But  I  know  that  I  have  not. 
Here  I  am,  lingering  on,  because  the  elegant  luxury  of  this 
establishment  pleases  me ;  because  I  can  enjoy  it  as  if  it 
were  my  own.  I  wish  I  were  not  so  enslaved  by  this  love 
of  ease  and  elegance.  I  would  go  somewhere  where  I  would 
be  of  use.  How  I  admire  the  self-resignation,  the  ascetic 
self-denial  of  the  Sisters  of  Charity.  Ah  me  1  I  love  Cor- 
delia's meekness,  and  can't  be  meek.  I  admire  Sister 
Mary's  or  Sister  Martha's  self-devotion,  but  I  can't  be  self- 
devoted.  A  bundle  of  fine  sentiments  have  I,  instead  of 
good  principles.  How  long  is  this  life  to  last  ?  It  cannot 
last  long ;  at  least,  this  Mont  Crystal  chapter,  for  Louise  is 
nearly  sixteen,  and  I  think  her  mother  will  not  want  my 
services  much  longer.  And  then  where  ?  Ah  !  that  strikes 
me  pleasantly  ;  fancy  is  free  to  roam  all  over  the  earth  for 
another  home.  'The  world  is  all  before  me,  where  to 
choose.'  The  uncertainty  is  pleasant.  Shall  I  nex.t  live  in 
a  hilly  country  or  a  level  one ! — in  the  interior  or  on  the 
seashore  ?  Shall  I  go  north,  south,  east,  or  west  ?  At  any 
rate,  what  new  faces,  what  new  landscapes,  shall  I  see? 
Yes,  this  vagrant  respectably  vagrant  life,  is  vastly  agree- 
able. So  agreeable,  that  I  wish  to  redeem  it  by  great 
ntility.  Yes,  'my  lines  are  cast  in  pleasant  places  ;'  this  ii 
a  free,  careless  life  enough.  The  vagueness  of  the  future  is 
piquant ;  truly  I  would  n<  t  resign  the  gay  liberty  of  my 


124  tHX     M3THER-IX-LAW. 

present  life  ;  nothing  would  tempt  me  to  resign  it  bat  tht 
prospect — no,  the  certainty  of  taking  the  head  of  some 
splendid  palace  as  its  mistress.  Truly  there  is  something 
of  the  gipsy  in  my  disposition ;  I  am  a  blending  of  the 
empress  and  the  Zingaro.  Ah,  I  have  it.  It  is  known 
that  the  west  of  Ireland,  from  whence  I  come,  was  settled 
by  a  colony  of  Spaniards,  ages  ago.  Now,  I  know  that  I 
am  descended  by  many  generations  from  one  of  the  old 
sovereigns  of  the  soil  and  a  Ziugaro  emigrant,  or  squatter, 
and  hence  comes  my  love  of  elegant  palace-houses,  and  also 
the  wandering  liberty  of  wild  nature.  No,  nothing  would 
tempt  me  to  leave  this  pleasant,  governessing  life,  with  its 
piquant  varieties,  and  uncertainties,  and  unexpected  crises, 
except  the  invitation  to  take  the  head  of  just  such  a  splen- 
did palace  as  that  upon  the  Isle  of  Kays.  Mont  Crystal  is 
a  magnificent  place,  but  the  Palace  of  the  Isle  is  something 
to  go  crazy  about.  And  now  I  wonder  why  I  am  always 
dreaming  of  that  Island  Palace.  I  never  dream  of  its  in- 
mates. Surely  I  have  no  half-formed  matrimonial  design 
on  Louis  Stuart-Gordon,  the  boy  heir  of  the  Island  Estate. 
I  am  only  a  poor  governess,  without  an  eagle  left  in  my  purse, 
yet  I  should  not  accept  the  hand  of  Louis  Stuart-Gordon, 
were  the  honor  tendered  me  to-day.  I  would  not  take  the 
Island  Estate,  with  that  incumbrance,  delicate  and  elegant 
as  he  is,  or  rather,  because  of  his  elegance  and  delicacy.  I 
Lave  elegance  and  delicacy  enough  myself  for  two  people, 
and  consequently  he  who  marrfes  me,  must  be  rough  enough 
to  make  strength  supposable,  or  I'll  none  of  him.  There- 
fore, I  am  innocent  of  all  covert  designs  on  Louis  Stuart- 
Gordon.  Now,  then,  why  is  it,  that  whenever  I  call  up 
Images  of  my  possible  future  homes,  no  picture  but  that  of 
the  Isle  of  Rays  rises  at  my  summons  ?  Ah,  now  I  know 
the  reason.  It  is  an  epidemic  among  all  the  marriageable 
girls  of  the  Valley,  for  a  hundred  miles  around,  and  I  have 
bToluntarily  caught  the  infection ;  that  is  it  1  I  must  4^ 


Jf  JL  T  E     JUMFEB.  125 

well.  Ah  1  there  is  Kate  Jumper  passing  into  Mrs.  Arm- 
strong's chamber ;  a  privy  council  to  be  held  there ;  I 
wonder  upon  what  subject.  Happily,  it  is  none  of  my 
business."  And  Brighty  began  to  make  her  evening  toilet* 
and  was  soon  absorbed  in  the  interesting  occupation. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

KATE    JUMPER. 

Ton  shall  find  ner  the  Infernal  Ate  in  strange  apparel.     I  -wish  some 
would  conjure  her.— Much.  Ado  About  Nothing. 

LET  us  accompany  "  Kate  Jumper"  into  the  chamber  of 
her  mistress,  whither  she  had  been  summoned. 

There  was  something  sinister,  appaling,  almost  spectral, 
about  the  look  of  this  woman. 

She  was  a  mulatto  of  the  tallest  altitude,  in  whose  face 
the  negro  features  were  not  only  decided,  but  grossly  exag- 
gerated. The  low,  receding  forehead,  was  lower  and  more 
receding;  the  nose  larger,  flatter,  broader;  the  lips  thicker, 
and  more  protruding  even,  than  usual.  Her  goblin-lik* 
appearance  was  enhanced  by  a  head  of  hair,  never  cut,  that 
grew  out  an  immense  black  bush  all  over  her  head  ;  by  her 
dress  of  dusty,  black  stuff,  and  by  the  man's  hat  that  habit- 
nally  surmounted  the  black  bush.  Kate  Jumper  was  the 
loathing  of  all  the  neighborhood,  and  the  terror  of  all  the 
children.  She  had  been  the  confidential  attendant  of  Mrs. 
Armstrong  in  her  early  youth,  and  ever  since  Ler  marriage 
•he  filled  that  important  post.  She  had  been  the  nurse, 
and  now  also  acted  as  the  maid  of  the  young  girl  of  whont 
her  mother  took  too  jealous  care  to  intrust  her  in  the  handi 
ef  anothe'  servant 


129  THE     MOTHER-IN-LAW, 

Doffing  her  hat  and  setting  it  down  at  the  door,  Cat* 
Jumper  entered  the  chamber  of  her  mistress,  whom  she 
found  at  her  evening  toilet,  Louise,  as  usual,  sitting  on  a 
low  chair  near  her. 

"  My  daughter,  go  and  sit  with  your  governess  nutil  she 
is  ready,"  said  the  lady,  on  seeing  her  maid  enter. 

Louise  arose,  lifted  the  hand  of  her  mother  respectfully 
to  her  lips,  and  left  the  room. 

The  lady  brought  her  attendant  to  her  side  by  a  gesture. 

Resigning  the  arrangement  of  her  gold-colored  Irish 
gauze  turban  into  the  hands  of  her  maid,  she  continued 
gome  time  in  silence.  At  length  she  inquired,  with  seem- 
ing indifference — 

"  Do  you  know  where  young  Stuart-Gordon  is,  and  what 
he  is  about,  just  now  ?" 

"  He  is  still  at  home,  at  the  Isle,  madam." 

"  Ah  I  I  had  not  seen  or  heard  of  him  lately,  and  fancied 
that  he  bad  left  the  neighborhood.  How  does  he  amuse 
himself  at  the  present  time  ?" 

"  They  say  that  he  is  going  to  see  Miss  Somerville." 

"Howl"  exclaimed  the  lady,  turning  around  so  suddenly 
and  sharply  as  to  throw  into  chaos  the  elegant  folds  of  the 
head-dress  under  Kate  Jumper's  hands.  But  quickly  re- 
covering her  composure  and  dignity,  she  inquired  quietly — 

"  They  say  so  I     Who  say  so  ?" 

"It  is  the  common  report  of  the  whole  neighborhood, 
madam.  Every  one  says  that  it  will  be  a  match." 

"And  upon  what  grounds  do  they,  everybody,  assert 
such  impossibilities,  such  absurdities  ?" 

"  Madam,  Mr.  Stuart-Gordon  spends  every  forenoon  at 
The  Crags ;  Miss  Susan  Soinerville  comes  every  evening  to 
make  tea  at  the  Isle." 

"  How  long  haa  this  gone  on  ?" 

"For  the  :,:st  two  weeks,  madam." 


KATE     JUMPER.  127 

"And  Mr.  Stuart  Gordon  has  spent  every  forenoon,  foi 
the  last  two  weeks,  at  The  Crags  ?" 

"  Yes,  madam." 

"  And  Miss  Somerville  has  come  over,  every  evening,  to 
tea  at  the  Isle  ?" 

"  Yes,  madam." 

"  Inexplicable  1  And  no  lady — no  matron — to  counte- 
nance her  visits  ?" 

"No  madam." 

"  Disgraceful  1  What !  do  you  mean  to  say  that  she 
made  these  visits  alone  ?" 

"  Not  alone,  madam  ;  Harriet,  her  housekeeper,  attende 
her." 

"  No  proper  attendant  on  such  an  occasion  ;  and,  indeed, 
no  proper  attendant  could  have  been  found,  the  visit  itself 
being  highly  improper.  How  is  the  General  supposed  to 
look  upon  this  strange  proceeding  ?" 

"  He  is  very  fond  of  Miss  Susan  Somerville." 

"  He  offers  no  impediment  to  this  proposed  marriage  ?" 

"No,  madam." 

"You  may  go." 

Kate  Jumper  left  the  room,  and  the  lady  fell  into  pro- 
found thought. 

Mrs.  Armstrong  was  no  vulgar  manoeuvring  match-maker, 
yet  she  had  silently  and  naturally  betrothed  Louise  to  Louis,, 
from  her  very  cradle,  and  there  seemed  every  sort  of  pro- 
priety in  such  a  betrothal ;  the  fitness  of  relative  age,  rank, 
wealth,  proximity  of  estates,  &c.  And  there  were  many 
strange  coincidences  in  their  circumstances.  Both  were 
only  children,  both  were  sole  heirs,  both  were  born  on  the 
same  day  of  the  same  month — the  maiden  being  just  two 
years  younger  than  the  youth.  The  coincidence  extended 
even  to  their  names — Louis  and  Louise.  They  were  de- 
yoted  to  each  other  as  children.  Their  birthdays  were 
celebrated  together.  One  year,  the  festivities  would  to 


128  THE     MOTHEB-IN-LAW. 

held  at  Mont  Crystal  ;  the  next  year  at  the  Isle.  The 
parents  of  these  children  would  lave  thought  it  almost  sin 
if  they  had  supposed  that,  in  after  life,  either  would  hay* 
thought  of  wedding  any  but  the  other  ;  but,  though  the 
thought  of  the  future  marriage  of  these  children  and  these 
estates  was  ever  in  the  hearts,  it  was  never  on  the  tongue* 
of  the  parents,  the  practice  of  betrothing  children  in  their 
cradles  never  having  existed  in  Virginia,  aristocratic  and 
conservative  as  that  patrician  State  is  known  to  be.  Thii 
is  not  saying,  however,  that  in  Virginia  lands  are  not  more 
frequently  married  than  hearts,  and  that  love -matches  are 
not  held  in  especial  contempt — "  love  being  a  sentiment 
that  Thomas,  the  coachman,  feeis  for  Betty,  the  housemaid, 
and  which  generally  ends  in  converting  the  said  Thomas 
from  a  genteel  servant  into  a  slovenly  brute,  and  Betty 
from  a  neat-handed  Abigail  to  a  haggard  slattern,  beaten 
by  a  drunken  husband,  and  dragged  at  by  ten  squalling 
children."  Love  is  not  a  gentlemanly  or  a  lady-like  pro- 
pensity. Southern  aristocrats,  however,  leave  this  to  the 
instinct  of  nobility  supposed  to  be  resident  in  the  bosoms 
of  their  young  patricians,  and,  therefore,  would  never  think 
it  necessary  to  take  advantage  of  the  nonage  of  their  chil- 
dren, to  bind  them  by  such  contracts  if  they  could.  Least 
of  all,  would  Mrs.  Armstrong,  withheld  by  a  sentiment  of 
pride — or  the  Stuart-Gordons,  restrained  by  principle — least 
of  all  would  they  have  affianced  their  children  in  infancy. 
Still  it  was  in  the  minds  of  both.  The  annual  celebration 
of  the  birthdays  was  kept  up,  and  a  competition  of  splendor, 
as  to  who  should  distinguish  the  day  with  greatest  magnifi- 
cence, interested  the  families  of  Mont  Crystal  and  of  The 
Isle  of  Rays.  The  very  last  celebration  of  the  birthdays 
was  held  at  the  Isle  of  Rays,  gentle  Margaret  Stuart-Gor- 
don presiding  over  the  festival.  This  was  just  a  month 
before  her  sudden  death  overwhelmed  her  bereaved  familj 
with  sorrow,  the  whole  neighborhood  with  gloom. 


K  A  f  X     J  U  M  P  K  R.  129 

Wr  have  sean  that  Mrs.  Armstrong  possessed  one  master 
,  PRIDE;  one  predominant  affection,  MATERNAL  LOVE; 
The  sovereignty  of  her  soul  was  a  di-uravirate,  and  the 
two  powers  that  divided  it  were  equally  potent,  and  for  a 
long  time  upiied,  pride  being  firmly  wedded  to,  and  highly 
flattered  by,  the  favored  object  of  her  maternal  affection 
But,  as  Louise  approached  womanhood,  these  passions 
began  to  conflict,  thus — 

The  time  was  slowly  but  surely  approaching  when  it 
would  be  proper  for  the  heiress  of  Mont  Crystal  to  be  mar- 
ried. Her  pride  was  interested  in  seeing  her  married,  and 
established  as  the  mistress  of  the  most  magnificent  mansion 
and  the  greatest  estate  in  the  valley,  and  pride,  enlisting 
policy  on  her  side,  would  suffer  no  delay,  run  no  risk  of  the 
loss  of  this  desideratum.  But  her  maternal  love,  if  the 
fierce,  selfish,  and  exacting  passion  deserved  the  name, 
rebelled  against  this  decision.  Pride  would  have  been 
highly  gratified  by  seeing  Miss  Armstrong,  as  Mrs.  Stuart- 
Gordon,  mistress  of  the  Island  Palace.  Maternal  love  was 
grieved  at  the  anticipation  that  her  daughter  should  become 
the  wife  of  Louis,  maternal  jealousy  aroused  by  the  thought 
that  Louise  should  derive  the  happiness  of  her  life  from  any 
other  than  herself.  It  is  true,  the  mother  coveted  for  her 
daughter  no  happiness  that  did  not  flow  through  herself. 
It  is  true,  the  thought  of  seeing  Louise  in  another  home, 
united  to  another — a  more  genial,  a  more  beloved,  a  life- 
long companion — of  seeing  her  surrounded  by  an  infant 
family,  which  with  her  husband  should  occupy  the  largest 
share  of  her  thoughts  and  affections — of  feeling  herself  the 
mother  of  one  only  child,  becoming  of  less  and  less  import- 
ance to  the  happinesa  of  that  child,  as  year  by  year  went  by 
and  aged  her — this  thought  inflicted  upon  her  selfish  heart 
the  sharpest  pang  it  was  capable  of  feeling.  Could  she 
feave  conquered  pride,  resign  the  thought  of  establishing 
Kin  Armstrong,  and  even  selfishly  determine  to  indnlgt 


180  THE     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

her  maternal  jealousy,  and  keep  her  daughter  foiover  an- 
wedded  and  at  home — or,  could  she  have  subdued  her  ma- 
ternal jealousy,  and  gratified  pride  by  seeing  Louise  at  the 
summit  of  her  ambition — in  a  word,  could  one  or  the  other 
of  her  evil  passions  have  obtained  the  mastery  of  her  soul, 
•he  would  have  been  a  less  tortured  woman.  Hell  is  the 
less  intolerable  for  having  but  one  sovereign.  If  it  be  the 
consummation  of  all  horrors  to  our  conceptions  now,  what 
would  it  be  in  civil  war? 

Mrs.  Armstrong  could  not  or  would  not  put  an  end  to 
the  civil  disturbance ;  it  was  not  yet  civil  war  in  her  own 
goul.  Not  from  indecision — no  one  had  a  stronger  will 
when  she  pleased  to  exert  it — but  from  a  selfish,  grasping 
wish  to  derive  the  greatest  amount  of  grati6cation  from 
both  her  ruling  propensities. 

She  was  resolved  that  ultimately  Miss  Armstrong  should 
become  mistress  of  the  Isle  of  Rays  ;  yet,  as  her  daughter's 
proposed  husband  approached  manhood,  she  conceived  a 
Btrong  and  growing  aversion  to  him,  as  the  person  destined 
to  divide  with  her  her  place  in  her  only  chilli's  heart,  her 
influence  over  her  only  child's  life. 

Her  manner  had  grown  cold  to  Louis.  She  had  dis- 
couraged the  intimacy  of  the  children,  and  the  estrangement 
increased  with  years,  and  was  interrupted  only  by  the 
annual  birthday  festivities.  Since  the  death  of  Margaret 
Stuart-Gordon,  the  estrangement  had  become  total — a  dead 
silence  fell  between  the  once  closely  connected  families,  a 
•ilence  broken  at  last  by  the  strange  rumor  of  Louis — 

"  Fools  1"  silently  sneered  the  lady,  as  her  attendant 
retired ;  "  Fools !  Do  they  really  suppose  that  General 
Stuart-Gordon  for  a  single  instant  contemplates  the  possi- 
bility of  hio  only  son,  Louis,  the  sole  heir  of  the  great 
Island  Estate,  marrying  a  penniless  girl,  an  uneducated 
rnntlc,  like  Susan  Somerville  ?  Little  would  General  Stuart- 
Gordon  f»el  flattertd  by  tht  construction  placed  by  th* 


KJLTX    JUMPS*.  1S1 

neighborhood  upon  his  politeness  to  Miss  Somerrlllc,  and 
that,  by  the  way,  shon.d  be  a  lesson  for  such  mistaken 
civility  and  indiscriminate  association.  No  ;  there  is  not 
in  all  the  mountains  a  proper  bride  for  Louis  Stuart-Gordon, 
sate  one — my  daughter,  Louise  Armstrong;  no  eligible 
natch  for  the  heir  of  the  Island  Estate,  except  one — the 
fteiress  of  Mont  Crystal.  I  had  supposed  there  was  time 
•nongh" — and  a  shadow  fell,  softening  the  hard  brow.  "I 
had  supposed  that  there  was  time  enough — that  Louis 
needed  not  for  some  years  to  come  think  of  matrimony, 
lince  he  will  not  be  eighteen  until  the  22d  of  next  February, 
when  my  daughter  will  have  completed  her  fifteenth  year. 
But  it  seems  that,  since  the  death  of  Mrs.  Stuart-Gordon, 
the  Island  Palace  is  supposed  to  need  a  mistress,  taat 
General  Stuart-Gordon  has  expressed  a  strong  desire  that 
his  son  should  marry  early,  and  give  it  one.  Louis  is  very 
young,  too  young.  General  Stuart-Gordon's  tastes  are 
strictly  domestic.  He  wants  a  home,  and  thinks  that,  in 
his  regal  palace,  he  cannot  have  one  without  a  woman. 
Bad  1  foolish !  If  Louis  does  not  make  a  choice  soon,  he 
will — he  will — he  does  not  think  so,  but  /  know  it.  He 
thinks  now  only  of  eternal  fidelity  to  that  '  ascended  saint,' 
M  he  calls  his  deceased  wife,  but  already  he  has  ceased  to 
groan  and  sigh  after  his  saint  in  heaven,  and  begins  to  feel 
that  he  is  still  on  earth,  with  all  earth's  wants  pressing  upon 
him.  He  will  be  mad  enough  to  think  of  a  second  mar- 
riage. I  wish  Mrs.  Stuart-Gordon  had  not  thought  proper 
to  die — her  death  has  disturbed  the  economy  of  my  plans 
rery  much.  The  late  Mrs.  Stuart-Gordon  was  a  lady,  and 
it  really  does  not  suit  me  to  see  an  inferior  take  her  place 
M  the  head  of  an  establishment  my  daughter  is  one  day  tc 
ester  as  a  bride.  She  might  be  one  with  whom  I  could  not 
associate ;  she  might  be  yonng,  and  so  keep  Louise  half  bar 
life  in  a  subordinate  position  in  the  household.  I  could  not 
•cdv*  that !  Mill  Armstrong  when  she  enters  that  bout 


132  f  H  X     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

Mrs.  Stuart-Gordo  i,  must  take  the  head  of  tne  establish 
ment.  Bat  I  am  not  disposed  soon  to  part  with  my  only 
daughter ;  yet,  a  crisis  approaches — one  of  three  things  is 
likely  to  happen  :  General  Stuart-Gordon  may  marry — that 
is  the  first  contingency ;  or  press  Louis  to  make  choice  of  a 
wife — that  is  the  second  ;  or  Lonis  may  have  conceived  a 
boyish  passion  for  Susan  Somerville  or  some  other  equally 
ineligible  girl,  and  all  girls  are  ineligible  in  my  estimation, 
except  one  young  lady.  Louis  had  a  decided  preference 
for  Louise.  I  have  estranged  them  lately,  since  the  decease 
of  Mrs.  Stuart-Gordon.  Well  1  I  do  not  regret  it — I 
would  not  cheapen  my  daughter — nevertheless,  now  is  the 
time  to  change  deportment.  Mrs.  Stuart-Gordon  has  been 
dead  eight  months.  It  is  to  be  presumed  that  the  first 
violent  effects  of  grief  have  passed  away  ;  that  the  bereaved 
are  willing  now  to  be  amused.  The  doors  of  Mont  Crystal 
have  been  closed  to  festivities  since  the  decease  of  the  lady 
of  the  Island  Palace,  out  of  compliment  to  the  Island  family. 
The  portals  of  Mont  Crystal  must  now  be  thrown  open  to 
visitors  from  the  Isle.  The  palace  doors  of  the  Isle  must 
swing  apart,  to  give  entrance  to  the  ladies  of  Mont  Crystal, 
when  they  shall  occasionally  make  a  call.  The  friendly,  the 
intimate  association  of  the  families  must  be  resumed.  Now 
is  the  favorable  time  to  commence.  Christmas  approaches. 
Christmas  festivity  shall  again  enliven  Mont  Crystal.  I  will 
invite  a  Christmas  party  to  the  house — give  a  ball  and 
dinner.  For  once,  I  will  invite  the  Somerville's.  I  wish 
to  observe  for  myself  the  terms  upon  which  these  two  young 
people  appear  to  be.  Yes,  I  will  gather  all  the  young 
people  of  the  neighborhood,  many  of  whom  I  have  not  seen 
rince  they  reached  womanhood,  and  I  will  take  note  of  any 
possible  rival  my  daughter  may  have — but,  what  do  I  say  ? 
Louise  Hector  Armstrong  must  have  no  rivalry,  must  enter 
Into  no  competition ;"  and,  rising,  the  lady  entered  her 
private  sitting-room,  and,  ringing  the  bell,  sent  the  servant 


KATE     JUMPER.  188 

who  answered  to  request  the  immediate  attendance  of  MU» 
O'Kiley. 

Brighty  entered  three  minutes  afterward. 

"Sit  down,  Miss  O'Riley.  I  have  been  planning  sorat 
amusements  for  my  daughter. " 

Britannia  looked  interested. 

"  In  accordance  with  your  advice,  Miss  O'Riley." 

Britannia  bowed  in  acknowledgment  of  the  compliment, 
snd  silently  awaited  further  communication. 

"  I  shall  invite  General  and  Mr.  Stuart-Gordon,  Major 
and  Miss  Somerville,  to  spend  Christmas  week  at  Mont 
Crystal." 

Britannia  smiled  to  herself  when  she  heard  General 
Stuart-Gordon's  name,  and  started  with  surprise  as  that  of 
the  interdicted  Susan  Somerville  met  her  ear. 

"As  our  party  will  be  a  Christmas  one,  it  is  not  strictly 
necessary  that  we  be  exclusive.  All  may  unbend  a  little  at 
Christmas." 

"  Certainly,"  assented  Miss  O'Riley. 

"  During  their  stay,  I  shall  give  a  dinner  and  ball,  and 
it  is  in  relation  to  that,  more  particularly,  that  I  have  re- 
quested your  presence.  Will  you  have  the  goodness  to  sit 
down  at  my  writing-table,  and  make  out,  at  my  dictation,  a 
list  of  guests  to  be  invited." 

"  With  great  pleasure,  madam,"  said  Britannia,  taking 
the  indicated  seat,  and,  dipping  her  pen  in  ink  arid  laying  a 
sheet  of  paper  before  her,  she  held  herself  in  readiness  for 
the  task. 

A  list  of  about  thirty  names  was  made  out,  and  Britannia 
absolutely  dropped  her  pen  and  stared  in  astonishment  when 
the  thirty-first  name  given  was  Gertrude  Lion,  and  thirty- 
second,  Zoe  Dove.  What  does  Mrs.  Armstrong  mean  ? 
Was  she  converged  ?  Was  she  going  to  die  ? 

"You  look  slocked,  Miss  O'Riley,  and  I  am  glad  to  »e« 
that  you  do.  I  had  feared  that  you  favored  those  young 


134  THI     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

ladies  to  a  degree  that  I  should  disapprove  in  Miss  Arm 
strong's  governess.  I  ara  glad  to  see  that  the  idea  of  inn- 
ting  them  to  Mont  Crystal  displeases  yon." 

"  No  !  "  said  Brighty,  "  surprises  me.  I  had  not  expec- 
ted—" 

"  Sock  a  proceeding  on  my  part.  Perhaps  not.  Yet, 
as  my  contemplated  party  is  to  be  quite  a  large  one,  it  is 
rot  obliged  to  be  very  select.  There  will  be  several  guests 
at  the  ball  that  I  would  not  upon  any  account  invite  to 
Mont  Crystal  upon  any  other  occasion,  and  these  young 
ladies  are  among  the  number.  Yet  they  are  of  thoroughly 
respectable  parentage,  whatever  they  may  be  in  other 
respects.  Nevertheless,  Miss  O'Riley,  I  shall  expect  you 
to  keep  your  pupil  separate  and  at  a  distance  from  these 
persons." 

Britannia  bowed  coolly,  and  presently  asked — 

"  May  I  inquire,  Mrs.  Armstrong,  if  there  be  any  thing 
affecting  the  moral  character  of  these  young  women  ?" 

"  Assuredly  not,  Miss  O'Riley.  My  inviting  them  to  Mont 
Crystal  at  any  time  and  under  any  circumstances  should 
be  a  sufficient  guarantee  that  they  are  stainless,  unimpeach- 
able. Why  do  you  ask  such  an  irrelevant,  such  a  singular, 
I  had  nearly  said  such  an  impertinent,  question  ?" 

"  I  could  not  conjecture  the  reason  why  you  dread  the 
contagion  of  their  proximity  so  much,  unless  there  were 
Rome  pestilential  moral  malaria  evolved  from  them,"  said 
Brighty,  with  assumed  naivete. 

"  They — at  least  Miss  Lion  is  eccentric — has  been  dis- 
tinguished by  a  sobriquet.  Zoe,  though  sufficiently  refined 
and  intelligent,  of  course*  has  no  claims  of  equality — and  tho 
order  of  rank  is  to  be  o*  served,  Miss  O'Riley. 

Here  such  a  decided  curl  twisted  the  pretty  upper  lip  ol 
Brighty,  that  Mrs.  Armstrong  observing  it,  said,  haughtily — 

"  At  least   Miss  O'Riley,  Miss  Armstrong's  mcther  dis- 


KATK     JUMPER.  ISf 

approves  of  the  acquaintance,  and  has  undoubtedly  a  right 
to  object  to  certain  associations  for  her  daughter." 

"Most  certainly,"  assented  Britannia,  and  gave  her  atten- 
tion to  her  work. 

"When  the  list  of  about  a  hundred  names  was  complete — 

"  Now,  Miss  O'Riley,  will  you  oblige  me  by  writing 
cards  of  invitation  addressed  to  each  name  of  your  list  ?" 

Miss  O'Riley  bowed  compliance,  and  the  lady,  rising, 
withdrew  to  have  a  consultation  with  her  housekeeper. 

A  Christmas  party  at  Mont  Crystal !  This  was  some- 
thing new  under  the  sun  I  It  disturbed  somewhat  the 
majestic  solemnity  habitually  reigning  at  Mont  Crystal. 
Mrs.  Armstrong  was  engaged ;  Brighty  excited ;  even  the 
pale,  wan,  spiritual  Louise  became  childishly  interested  in 
the  new  dresses  selected  for  her  for  the  occasion — dresses 
that  were  to  be  made  long,  as  ladies  wore  them — the  first 
dresses  that  she  had  ever  had  made  so.  Her  pale,  gold 
hair  was  to  be  combed  out  of  curl,  trained  up  around  a 
comb  and  dressed  with  sapphires ;  the  plain  gold  hoops  in 
her  ears  were  to  give  place  to  sapphire  ear-rings ;  these 
things  had  been  sent  for ;  and  in  short,  Louise  understood 
that  "  Miss  Armstrong  "  was  about  to  "  come  out  "  at  the 
ensuing  Christmas.  That  was  another  subject  of  excite- 
ment among  the  household,  who,  from  Kate  Jumper,  the 
prime-minister,  down  to  the  tiny  mulatto  boy,  whose  office 
it  was  to  wait  on  the  governess, — some  from  affection,  some 
from  mere  love  of  any  circumstance  that  might  vary  the 
monotony  of  their  lives,  took  a  lively  interest  in  all  the 
affairs  of  the  family.  All  were  busy,  all  were  happy.  The 
only  clouded  brow  was  that  of  Mrs.  Armstrong,  who  walked 
majestically  through  her  superb  rooms,  giving  orders  with 
the  air  of  an  undertaker  directing  a  funeral.  Her  occasional 
appearance  in  the  still-room,  (the  room  set  apart  for  pre- 
•erving,  pickling,  distilling,  &c.,  is  thus  called  in  old  Virgi- 
via  mansions,)  cast  a  damper  on  the  spirits  of  the  hons* 


136  THE     MOTHBE-IN-LAW. 

keeper  and  her  assistants,  who  were  engaged  there  in  pr* 
paring  confectionery  for  the  coming  festival. 

A  Christmas  party  in  a  Virginian  planter's  house  I  DJ 
you  know  what  that  is,  reader  ?  I  advise  those  who  do  not, 
to  set  out  immediately  to  the  Valley — this  is  the  proper 
geasoa — and  get  their  limbs  dislocated  on  the  detestable 
roads — the  turnpikes  are  now  in  a  proper  trim  for  such  ca- 
tastrophes— and  get  picked  up  and  carried  into  some  plan- 
ter's house,  for  the  sake  of  being  a  cherished  guest  in  the 
coming  Christmas  holidays/  and  to  have  an  opportunity  of 
getting  over  their  prejudices  against  Virginian  aristocracy 
You  who  have  never  visited  Virginia,  (a  Summer  trip  to 
the  White  Sulphur  Springs  is  not  visiting  Virginia,  to  know 
it,  any  more  than  a  trip  to  Nahant  is  making  a  Southerner 
aufait  to  the  character  and  habits  of  New  England) — you 
who  have  never  visited  Virginia,  have  no  conception  of  what 
Virginian  hospitality  is.  It  reminds  one  of  the  feudal  ages, 
when  the  ox  was  roasted  entire,  whole  pipes  of  ale  broached, 
(I  beg  pardon  of  total  abstinence,)  and  the  baron's  gates 
thrown  open  to  all  comers — when  hospitality,  with  a  flag  of 
truce,  arrested  for  a  time  all  neighborhood  feuds.  You, 
t?ho  live  in  cities,  and  sneer  at  Old  Virginia  and  F.  F.  V's, 
{all  are  not  F.  F.  V's  who  pretend  to  be  so,)  have  no  con- 
ception of  what  a  Virginian  planter's  family  at  home  is. 
You,  who  provide  your  families  from  market-stalls,  grocery 
•tores,  confectioners,  and  so  forth,  have  no  idea  of  what  a 
real  Virginian  housewife  of  the  first  class  is — of  what  Virgi- 
nian housekeeping,  Virginian  cellars,  larders,  and  still-rooms 
•re.  Their  hams,  smoked  beef,  &c.,  are  quite  different  arti- 
cles from  those  you  buy  in  stores :  and  their  milk,  cream, 
and  butter — and  their  poultry  and  eggs — are  such  as  you 
leldom  see  in  market.  Virginian  matrons  have  an  old- 
fiuhioted  pride  in  their  housekeeping.  Why,  they  have 
been  preparing  for  Christmas  for  weeks  past !  And  such 
Itorw  u  they  hart  to  prepare  from  There  is  little  to  be 


CATS     JUMP  IK..  IS? 

bought — every  thing  is  at  hand.  The  still-room  closets  fur- 
nish the  dried  fruits,  the  preserves,  the  jellies,  and  even  the 
domestic  cordials,  wines,  and  essences — it  is  for  the  prepa- 
ration of  these  things  that  the  still-room  has  been  set  apart 
The  dairy  supplies  butter,  milk,  and  cream  ;  the  domestic 
hen-house  gives  the  eggs,  large  and  fresh,  the  poultry-yard 
•Applies  the  turkeys,  geese,  and  ducks — they  have  been  fat- 
tening for  a  month  past.  Then  in  the  meat-house,  the  great 
Christmas  round  of  beef  has  been  down  in  spices  for  weeks, 
and  the  huge  Christmas  ham  is  already  cured,  and  the 
Christmas  pies  are  in  fine  order.  There  will  be  great  doings 
in  Virginian  country-houses  this  blessed  Christmas.  There 
will  be  huge  bowls  of  egg-nog  brewed  before  breakfast,  and 
every  negro  on  the  plantations  will  come  up  to  wish  a  merry 
Christmas,  and  to  get  his  glass  of  brandy,  and  will  come  to 
breakfast  with  something  extremely  extra.  And  then  the 
family  will  go  to  church  in  the  old  family  carriage,  and  per- 
haps bring  the  preacher,  if  he  is  a  single  man,  home  to  din- 
ner. The  afternoon  will  be  spent  in  jollity,  and  the  evening 
will  close  with  a  dancing-party.  They  are  great  dancers  in 
the  country,  with  an  old  negro  officiating  as  a  fiddler — for 
even  a  first  family  cannot  at  all  times  command  a  band  of 
music,  if  they  are  resident  away  up  in  the  mountains,  or 
hidden  in  remote  valleys.  So  it  will  be  some  "  old  Uncle 
Ned,"  or  "old  Uncle  Ben,"  who  " play  the  fiddle  for  the 
ladies."  By  the  way,  you  could  not  go  into  a  Maryland  or 
Virginian  neighborhood,  where  there  was  not  some  fiddling 
Old  Nick  or  Old  Harry,  who  was  the  musical  wonder  of  his 
email  world — a  perfect  Paganini  in  ebony — and  whose  ser- 
rices  were  always  in  great  demand  on  merry-making  occa- 
sions. You  would  be  sur  prised  at  the  musical  genius  of 
some  of  these  old  negroes.  There,  Christmas  week  is  the 
slave's  Saturnalia.  Those  who  have  been  hired  out,  come 
home  :  their  year  is  out  on  Christmas  Eve,  and  all  have  a 
holiday  until  th«  3d  of  January ;  that  is,  all  except  a  ftw 


188  THE     MOTHIB-I5-LAW. 

that  are  needed  about  the  house,  and  even  they  take  tnrni 
in  going  oat. 

We  digress.  Let  us  return.  There  will  be  great  doings 
at  all  Maryland  and  Virginian  country-houses  this  season  ; 
but  none,  I  will  venture  to  say,  will  approach  in  splendor 
the  Christmas  festivities  that  will  celebrate  the  coming  out 
of  the  youthful  heiress  of  Mont  Crystal 


CHAPTER  XV 

TH«    CHRISTMAS    PARTY    AT    MONT    CRYSTAL 

Hit  the  bright  goblet !  Spread  the  festive  board  I 

Summon  the  gay,  the  youthful,  and  the  fair! 
Through  the  land  hall,  iu  joyous  concert  poured, 

Let  mirth  and  music  sound  the  dir^e  of  ears ! 

But  ask  tbou  not  if  happiness  be  there—- 
If the  loud  laugh  disguise  convulsive  throe, 

Or  if  the  brow  the  heart's  true  livery  wear ; 
Lift  not  the  fe&tal  mask  t — enough  to  know 
No  MC«ne  of  mortal  life,  but  teeing  with  mortal  woe. — Scott. 

IN  Maryland  aud  Virginia,  from  a  religious  sentiment, 
»T  from  a  superstitious  observance,  most  persons  choose  to 
eat  their  Christinas  dinner  at  home.  Therefore  few  invi- 
tations to  dinner  on  Christmas  day  are  accepted,  unless  it 
be  in  the  case  of  the  youug  married  sons  and  daughters, 
who  meet  to  dine  at  the  house  of  the  head  of  their  family. 
For  this  reason,  the  party  invited  to  spend  the  holidays  at 
Mont  Crystal  did  not  assemble  until  the  day  after  Christ- 
mas. Mont  Crystal  and  its  inmates  were  in  great  state  to 
receive  their  guests.  The  gold  fringed  curtains,  hanging  from 
the  central  arch  that  divided  the  two  apartments,  as  fold- 
ing doors  divide  them  now,  were  drawn  up  with  golden  cord 
and  tassel0  into  graceful  festoons,  thus  throwing  the  twc 


TEI     CHBISTMAS     PARTY.  1S9 

rooms  into  one  magnificent  saloon,  glowing  with  Its  sob 
dued  crimson  lights  and  shadows.  Far  down  the  gorgeous 
vista,  and  deep  in  the  burning  gloom  of  its  extremity,  wag 
the  recess  of  a  large  bay  window,  whose  rich  drapery  of 
crimson  velvet,  fringed  with  gold,  swept  finely  down  on 
either  side  of  a  luxurious  sofa  placed  below.  Beneath  thia 
gorgeous  canopy,  and  amid  the  piles  of  crimson  satin 
cushions,  reclined  the  beautiful  form  of  Miss  Armstrong, 
attended  by  her  governess.  Never  was  a  greater  contrast 
in  beauty  than  that  presented  by  these  two  young  girls,  aa 
their  figures  were  thrown  out  into  beautiful  relief  by  the 
crimson  background  of  their  seat — both  so  charming,  yet 
so  unlike.  Louise,  reclining,  with  her  fair,  transparent 
complexion,  with  her  mild  blue  eyes  and  pale  gold  wavy 
hair,  with  her  fragile  and  drooping  form  arrayed  in  white 
muslin  as  soft  and  pliable  as  her  gentle  disposition ;  Bri- 
tannia standing,  with  her  fierce  blue-black  eyes,  her  glisten- 
ing black  tresses  curling  down  her  snowy  forehead  and 
carnation  cheeks,  with  her  stately  figure,  attired  in  a  rich 
dark-green  brocade,  embroidered  with  a  deep  border  of  va- 
riegated flowers — a  dress  dignified  as  her  own  spirited  tem- 
per. They  were  a  beautiful  contrast,  Britannia  was  hand- 
some— Louise,  pretty.  Brighty  was  elegant — Louise,  grace- 
ful ;  Brighty  was  brilliant — Louise,  gentle ;  Brighty,  stately 
— Louise,  graceful ;  Brighty  was  witty  and  satirical — Lou- 
ise, benevolent  and  confiding ;  Brigbty,  audacious — Louise, 
timid ;  Brighty  lived  chiefly  on  her  intellect — Louise,  on 
her  affections ;  in  a  word,  Brighty  was  fascinating — Louise, 
lovely. 

Far  up  the  other  end  of  the  saloon,  and  facing  the  main 
entrance,  stood  Mrs.  Armstrong,  her  majestic  form  arrayed 
in  the  sweeping  folds  of  a  black  velvet  robe,  her  rich,  abun- 
dant hair  confined  in  a  bla/k  bugle  net  On  her  right 
hand,  attending  her  and  occasionally  conversing  with  her, 
stood  a  young  man  in  the  black  dress  of  a  clergyman.  He 


140  THl     1COTHEB-IX-L1.W. 

was  of  a  delicate  form ;  a  thin  but  highly  bat  intellectual 
face,  with  his  pale  broad  forehead  softly  shaded  by  fine, 
thin,  silky  black  curls.  His  manners  were  gentle  and  cour- 
teous, and  his  voice  soft  and  sweet.  This  was  Willis  Linds- 
lay  the  nephew  of  Mrs.  Armstrong,  and  a  student  in  the 

Theological  College  of .  He  had  come  down  to 

tpend  his  Christmas  at  Mont  Crystal,  and  now  stood  with 
the  lady  to  assist  iu  receiving  her  guests.  The  visitors,  as 
they  in  succession  alighted  from  their  carriages,  were  re- 
eeired  by  the  porter,  who  throwing  open  the  hall  door, 
pasted  them  into  the  care  of  a  servant  stationed  there  to  at- 
tend them  to  their  respective  rooms.  Thence,  after  having 
arranged  their  toilet,  they  passed  into  the  saloon  at  the  en- 
trance of  which  Mrs.  Armstrong  received  each  guest  with  the 
stately  courtesy  of  a  Virginian  lady  of  the  old  school.  First 
— as  punctuality  with  a  lady  and  hostess  was  a  chivalric  virtue 
of  that  old  gentleman — came  General  Stuart-Gordon,  with 
his  erect  military  air.  He  advanced  with  a  deep,  slow, 
reverential  bow,  met  by  the  lady's  slight  imperial  bend,  as 
she  said,  graciously — 

"  General  Stuart-Gordon,  yon  are  most  welcome  to  Mont 
Crystal." 

"I  am  honored  in  becoming  once  more  the  gnest  of  Mrs. 
Armstrong,"  replied  the  aged  Chesterfield,  with  a  second 
and  deeper  reverence,  as  he  gallantly  took  the  place  on  her 
left  hand,  after  slightly,  en  passant,  acknowledging  the  bow 
of  the  young  clergyman. 

Mr.  Stuart-Gordon,  we  are  happy  to  receive  yon.  My 
daughter,  Miss  Armstrong,  will  be  pleased  to  see  her  old 
•choolmate.  You  will  find  her  at  the  other  end  of  the  room," 
•miled  the  lady,  as  Louis  Stuart-Gordon  entered,  and  she 
gracefully  passed  him  on.  Louis  immediately  and  gladh 
•ought  Louise.  Next  came  old  Major  Somerville,  with  hb 
venerable  head  thinly  scattered  over  by  a  few  Biker  hairs  on 
UM  temples,  vith  hia  form  bowed  and  tottering  witl 


TH1     CHRISTMAS     PABTY.  141 

extreme  old  age,  as  he  leaned  on  the  arm  of  his  grand- 
daughter, the  calm  Susan.  Mrs.  Armstrong  advanced  to 
receive  the  patriarch  wjth  more  than  usual  courtesy. 

"  Major  Somerville,  it  affords  me  pleasure  to  see  you  at 
my  house.  The  ladies  of  our  family  have  long  missed  the 
good  and  wise  counsels  of  their  oldest  neighbor,  and  best 
and  most  venerable  friend  1  Miss  Somerville,  you  are  wel- 
come ;  my  daughter  will  know  how  to  value  the  privilege 
of  your  society,  having  lost  it  so  long.  Mr.  Lindslay,  Miss 
Somerville  is  looking  weary  ;  do  me  the  favor  to  give  Major 
Somerville  the  support  of  your  arm  to  a  comfortable  seat." 

The  old  gentleman  bowed  low,  with  the  reverential  gal- 
lantry of  the  olden  time ;  Susan  slightly  bent  her  head,  and 
the  veteran  and  the  maiden  passed  on,  conducted  by  Willis 
Lindslay. 

"Ha,  ha,  ha !  ha,  ha,  ha !  ha,  ha,  ha  I"  were  the  peals  of 
laughter  that,  ringing  out  like  silver  bells  from  the  hall, 
broke  upon  the  decorous  silence,  startled  the  stately  compo- 
sure, and  shocked  the  august  propriety  of  this  ceremonious 
reception. 

"Ha,  ha,  ha  I  ha,  ha,  ha  I  ha,  ha,  ha  I" 

Every  one  in  that  superb  room  paused,  looked  toward 
the  door,  listened ! 

"Ha,  ha,  ha!  ha,  ha,  ha!  ha,  ha,  ha!" 

Mrs.  Armstrong  drew  herself  up  in  awful  majesty. 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha !  ha,  ha,  ha-a-a-aw,"  rung  out  the  musical 
laughter — approaching — screaming — shouting;  and  Ger- 
trnde  Lion  burst  into  the  midst  of  them  like  a  ball  dis- 
charged from  a  cannon. 

The  effect  of  her  entrte  was  petrifying.  Each  member 
of  the  company  was  arrested  in  the  attitude  in  which  he  or 
•he  happened  to  be  standing  or  sitting. 

While  they  stood  transfixed — enchanted — I  will  describe 
this  girl — this  savage  beauty,  as  she  stood  among  the  con- 
ventional circle  assemble!  at  Mont  Crystal. 


142  TEX    MOTHEB-IN-LJLW. 

There  she  stood,  nearly  six  ftet  in  her  gaiters,  of  so  fine- 
ly proportioned  form  that  every  attitude  and  gesture  dis- 
played the  most  charming  grace,  blended  with  the  most  en- 
chanting originality.  Back  from  a  brow  white  as  sculp- 
tured marble,  flowed  locks  of  glittering  gold  rolling  and 
flashing  far  down  upon  her  blue  ridiug  habit  with  the  free- 
dom and  strength  of  a  lioness'  mane ;  the  large  clear  eyes 
of  Saxon  blue,  blazing  with  an  intolerable  light  impossible 
t«  darker  orbs.  There  she  stood  with  the  laugh  arrested  on 
her  lips  still  scintillating  from  her  eyes,  as  though  it  would 
explode,  with  one  hand  holding  up  her  riding  habit — with 
the  other  grasping  her  whip.  There  she  stood,  with  the 
majesty  of  Juno  and  the  freedom  of  Diana  blended  iu  one 
form  of  astonishing  perfection  ;  there  she  stood,  caring  as 
little  for  the  startled  hauteur  of  the  august  lady  of  Mont 
Crystal  as  Queen  Vashti  cared  for  the  dignity  of  the  inebri- 
ate king ;  there  she  stood,  silent  for  one  moment,  while  they 
paused,  spell-bound  by  her  beauty  and  audacity.  Then 
catching  up  the  frozen  white  hand  of  the  proud  "ladye," 
she  exclaimed — 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Armstrong  ? — ha,  ha,  ha  1  Ex- 
cuse me,  it  is  too  good — Brutus  wishing  to  learn  Greek  for 
love  !  Think  of  a  lion  in  love — a  lion  put  to  school !  Were 
yon  ever  in  love,  Mrs.  Armstrong?  Were  you,  General 
Stuart-Gordon  ?  How  does  it  feel,  I  wonder  ?  I  fancy  it 
Is  a  sort  of  intoxication  not  unlike  that  produced  by  alcoho] 
—•certainly  I  know  it  makes  people  talk  nonsense  and  run 
their  heads  against  a  post."  And  so  rattling  on,  the  savage 
girl  sprang  through  the  dignified  circle,  fled  up  the  saloon, 
and  caught  and  crushed  Britannia  in  her  strong  arms  beforo 
Mrs.  Armstrong  had  ohosen  to  relax  the  frozen  rigidity  of 
her  stiff  face  and  form.  Her  cold,  steel  eye  followed  the 
girl  as  she  shot  away,  then,  turning  deliberately  to  her  com- 
panion, she  asked,  in  measured  accents — 

"  Can  jo  -  inform  me,  General  Stuart- Gordon,  why  thai 


THI     CHRISTMAS     PABTY.  148 

joung  woman  is  permitted  to  go  at  large  ?  By  sanity,  im- 
plied  from  her  freedom  from  constraint,  inflicting  upon  the 
neighborhood  the  necessity  of  recognizing  her  ?" 

"  The  Lions  are  eccentric — startling — but  Mrs.  Arm- 
strong has  self-possession  and  forbearance,"  was  all  the 
reply  that  the  gallant  General  would  attempt,  and  it  \va* 
made  with  a  grave  bow.  The  "self-possession  of  Mrs 
Armstrong  "  had  received  a  thunder-shock,  but  it  had  main- 
tained its  perpendicularity ;  not  so  her  temper,  for  when 
the  next  couple,  which  was  our  old  schoolmaster  and  his 
adopted  child,  came  forward,  she  merely  received  them  with 
a  cold  bow,  as  she  swept  aside  to  let  them  pass.  They 
were  followed  closely  by  Brutus  Lion.  Brutus  Lion  was 
"  metamorphosed  with  a  mistress,"  certainly.  He  wore  a 
suit  of  new  black  cloth,  and  his  straight,  black  elf-locks  were 
combed  out  and  pomatumed  until  they  shone  with  a  purple 
lustre.  lie  was  the  last_ arrival.  The  guests  had  observed 
A  punctuality  in  accordance  with  the  honor  due  to,  and 
exacted  by,  the  haughty  mistress  of  Mont  Crystal.  Imme- 
diately after  the  last  arrival,  the  dinner-bell  rang. 

"  Will  General  Stuart-Gordon  lend  me  the  support  of  his 
arm  to  the  dining  room  ?"  said  Mrs.  Armstrong,  in  the  tone 
of  one  giving  a  command  that  conferred  a  high  honor,  as  it 
did.  The  General  acknowledged  the  honor  by  a  stately 
and  reverend  bow,  and,  taking  the  tips  of  the  lady's  kid 
glove  in  his  hands,  led  her  reverently,  at  arms  length,  across 
the  hall  to  the  dining  room.  There  were  no  familiar  lock- 
ing of  arms  between  a  lady  and  gentleman  in  those  stately 
days.  The  company  followed  in  couples,  and  to  the  astute 
Mrs.  Armstrong,  the  order  in  which  the  company  came  to 
the  dinner-table  afforded  a  good  clue  by  which  to  trace  tht 
mutual  attractions  of  the  young  people.  Finesse  in  con 
cealing  preferences  until  the  last  moment  from  the  world 
was  not  in  vogue  among  the  young  men  and  maidens  of  that 
4*j  and  icighborhood.  Nearly  all  the  youn^r  people  of  the 


144  THI     MOTHSB-IN-LAW. 

•ame  rank  in  that  sparse  neighborhood  were  collected  in 
that  saloon,  therefore  the  state  of  their  friendships  might  b« 
guessed  by  their  selections  of  partners.  Mrs.  Armstrong 
bad  taken  her  place  at  the  head  of  the  dinner-table,  Gen- 
eral Stuart-Gordon  standing  at  her  right  hand.  She  watched 
covertly  the  entree  of  her  guests.  What  was  her  mortifica- 
tion when  Miss  Armstrong  entered,  led  by  Willis  Lindslay, 
the  student — the  poor  cousin — the  beggar,  whose  every 
attitude,  gesture,  tone  of  voice,  and  expression  of  counte- 
nance, involuntarily  betrayed  his  devotion  to  her — what  was 
ner  consternation  when  Louis  Stuart-Gordon  followed  with 
Susan  Somerville,  his  pale,  intellectual  countenance  irradi- 
ated, bending  down  to  hers,  and  listening  to  her  words,  as 
though  he  lived  upon  the  light  of  her  beautifully  serene  face, 
and  the  deep,  sweet  tones  of  her  musical  voice.  Mrs.  Arm^ 
strong  saw  no  further  of  her  guests.  The  other  couples 
might  come  as  they  listed,  her  mind  was  too  absorbed  in 
the  study  of  this  annoying  contre-temps.  It  was  well  that 
her  servants  were  properly  trained  to  their  business,  and 
that,  the  service  of  the  dinner-table  went  on  with  great  pro- 
priety without  her  for  a  few  moments  while  she  recollected 
herself.  It  was  well  that  Mrs.  Armstrong,  however  inwardly 
discomposed,  could  never  be  surprised  from  her  self-com- 
mand. 

When  the  last  couple  had  taken  their  seats  at  the  table, 
•he  sank  majestically  into  her  chair,  and  the  dinner  com- 
menced. It  was  an  almost  interminable  affair.  I  will  not 
tire  you  with  the  three  courses — the  stately  compliments  of 
the  gentlemen,  the  dignified  reserve  of  the  ladies — nor  of 
the  firm  resolution  formed  by  Mrs.  Armstrong  as  she  saw, 
without  seeming  to  see,  the  poor  cousin's  worship  of  Louisa 
— the  devotion  of  Louis  Stuart-Gordon  to  Susan  Somer- 
ville.  The  most  annoying  thing  to  her  was  the  thought 
that  it  was  not  possible,  with  any  sort  of  propriety,  to  ma- 


THE     CHRISTMAS     PABTY.  14ft 

nmavre  aid  prevent  the  young  people  returning  to  the 
drewing-roon  in  the  precise  order  in  which  they  left  it,  or 
even  to  prevent  their  tete-a-tete  afterwards,  until  the  hour 
for  dancing  arrived.  Thus,  when  the  company  left  the  din- 
ing-room for  the  saloon,  she  had  the  pain  of  seeing  Willii 
carried  off  to  a  distant  recess  by  the  simple-minded  Louise, 
who  wished  to  show  him  a  collection  of  rare  shells  and 
fossils,  and  Susan  Somerville  enticed  away  by  Louis  to  look 
at  a  fine  original  Titian,  representing  a  gorgeous  autumn 
landscape.  In  another  corner  of  the  room,  General  Stuart- 
Gordon  and  Brutus  Lion  were  standing  before  a  sofa,  upon 
which  sat  Britannia  O'Riley,  with  Gertrude  on  her  right 
hand  and  Zoe  on  her  left.  These  five  persons  were  engaged 
in  a  lively  conversation  as  Mrs.  Armstrong  sailed  majes- 
tically toward  them,  hoped  that  they  were  amusing  them- 
selves, and  then  blandly  requested  Miss  O'Riley  to  say  to 
her  pupil  that  she  was  standing  too  near  the  window. 
Britannia  understood  not  only  all  that  was  said  by  the 
tongue,  but  all  that  was  meant  by  the  look.  She  withdrew 
herself  from  the  circle,  and  sought  Louise,  at  whose  side 
she  remained  the  rest  of  the  evening.  Mrs.  Armstrong 
>hen  turned  from  the  sofa — General  Stuart-Gordon  offering 
his  hand  to  attend  her  across  the  room.  This  was  precisely 
wnat  she  wanted — to  interrupt  the  tete-a-tete  of  Louise  and 
Will's,  and  to  obtain,  without  formally  demanding  it,  a 
pri^te  conversation  with  General  Stuart-Gordon,  with  the 
int:ntion  of  calling  his  attention,  in  a  diplomatic  and  digni- 
fied manner,  to  the  fact,  of  which  he  seemed  entirely  nn- 
cnnscions,  namely — tbe  decided  preference  of  his  son  and 
heir  for  the  penniless  Susan  Somerville.  Having  suffered 
Verself  to  be  seated  in  a  large  arm-chair ;  and  having,  with 
*  gesture  full  of  graceful  hauteur,  indicated  her  wish  that 
the  General  should  assume  the  seat  on  her  left,  bending 
ly  towards  him,  she  said  — 


U6  THK     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

"*  earnestly  congratulate  yon,  General  Stuan-'Jordan, 
npon  the  happy  prospects  of  your  son " 

"Madam?" 

"  His  choice  does  high  honor  to  his  intellect  and  heart." 

"  Pardon  me,  Mrs.  Armstrong ;  I  am  not  sore  that  I  un- 
derstand you." 

"  Miss  Somerville  is  a  young  lady  of  great  good  sense 
and  amiability." 

"  Really,  my  dear  madam,  you  must  pity  and  forgive  my 
stupidity ;  I  am  utterly  at  a  loss  to  comprehend  the  full 
bearing  of  the  subject  of  your  conversation." 

"  I  speak,  of  course,  of  the  approaching  marriage  of  your 
BOQ." 

"Oi  my  son,  madam  ?"  repeated  the  old  gentleman,  with 
a  deprecating  slowness  and  a  softness,  as  though  his  man- 
ner implored  pardon  for  the  rudeness  of  his  repetition. 

"  Of  your  son,  Louis." 

"  The  approaching  marriage  of  Louis,  did  I  understand 
you  to  say,  madam  ?" 

"Yes,  General,  I  congratulate  you  upon  the  approaching 
marriage  of  your  son,  Louis." 

"  May  I  inquire  with  what  lady  his  name  has  been  asso- 
cate-i,  madam?" 

"  With  the  name  of  a  young  lady  every  way  worthy  of 
Mr.  Stuart-Gordon's  regard — with  one  of  the  most  ancient 
names  in  the  country — with  that  of  Miss  Somerville.  I  had 
named  her  in  the  commencement  of  our  conversation." 

The  General  started  with  surprise,  then  rooted  his  eyei 
npon  the  carpet,  then  looked  up,  seeking  Louis  by  a  sweep- 
ing glance  through  the  room. 

"  I  had  not  dreamed  of  this  1"  he  exclaimed,  in  a  tone 
of  deep  regret,  as  his  eyes  fell  upon  Louis  and  Susan  Som 
errille,  in  a  close  and  apparently  very  interesting  converea 
tion  upon  that  crimson -s'aaded  sofa  at  the  extremity  of  thf 


THS     CHRISTMAS     PABTY.  147 

"  Mr«.  Armstrong  !;> 

"  General  Stuart-Gordon !" 

"Will  yon  pardon  me  for  inquiring  your  authority  foi 
gpeaking  of  the  possible,  or  probable  union  of  my  son  with 
Miss  Somerville  ?  Do  you  merely  suspect  it  from  your  ob- 
servation of  the  parties,  or  have  you  heard  it  ?" 

"  The  report  is  common  in  the  neighborhood,  and  the 
deportment  of  the  young  couple  seems  to  confirm  it." 

"  Madam,  there  is  not  one  word  of  truth  IL.  this  report  of 
tiie  marriage  engagement  at  all — not  one  word,  I  assure 
you,  upon  my  soul's  honor,"  said  the  General,  with  great 
emphasis. 

"Yet  there  seems  to  be  a  decided  preference  in  that 
quarter,"  smiled  the  lady,  with  a  successful  assumption  of 
good  humor. 

"  No,  madam  !  no — no — not  so !  a  mere  friendship,  I 
assure  you ;  mental  affinity,  &c.  Miss  Somerville  looks 
upon  him  as  a  brother — Louis  regards  her  in  the  light  of  a 
sister.  No,  madam,  no  !  I  think  I  am  advised  as  to  the 
preference  of  my  sou.  I  think  I  know  what  sweet  flower, 
what  delicate  snow-drop  Louis  Stuart-Gordon  would  fain 
place  in  his  bosom.  I  know  at  what  shrine  the  orisons  of 
Loais  Stuart-Gordon  are  offered,"  exclaimed  the  General, 
with  earnestness  ;  and,  rising,  with  a  profound  bow,  he 
sauntered  forward  to  arrest,  or  at  least  to  make  a  third  in 
the  conversation  of  Louis  and  Susan.  As  he  approached 
them,  he  looked  covertly  but  keenly  at  each,  and  took  note 
of  the  following  facts,  namely — that  Louis  was  now  con- 
versing in  a  v*ry  free  and  disembarrassed  manner,  upon 
general  subjects,  and  that  Susan,  usually  so  calm,  was  look- 
ing down  upon  the  geranium  she  held  in  her  hand,  and  now 
ns'bty  trembling  in  every  nerve — her  cheek,  always  so  white 
anc  cool,  was  now  warm  and  flushed — her  eyes,  ever  so 
uer^ely  clear  and  open,  were  now  downcast,  each  gemmed 
whk  a  tear-drop,  quivering  to  iti  fall.  "  My  ion  hai  woi 


148  THK     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

thf  heart  of  Susan  Somerville,  whether  he  wished  to  do  BO 
or  not,';  was  the  comment  of  the  old  man,  as  he  stood  be- 
fore them.  Then,  taking  his  seat  on  the  opposite  side  of 
Mita  Somerville,  he  began  talking  to  her  in  a  lively  and 
complimentary  vein,  and  so  completely  threw  Louis  out  of 
the  conversation  in  which  he  had  been  engaged.  They  had 
no  word  together  the  remainder  of  the  evening.  This  Mrs. 
Armstrong  had  at  last,  in  the  face  of  all  difficulties,  discov- 
ered every  incipient  flirtation,  and  successfully  manoeuvred 
to  arrest  them. 

By  reason  of  the  number  of  guests  at  Mont  Crystal, 
General  Stuart-Gordon  and  his  son  occupied  separate  beds 
in  the  same  chamber.  When  they  had  retired  to  their 
room,  General  Stuart-Gordon  commenced,  in  his  fatherly 
and  affectionate  manner,  to  banter  Louis  upon  the  subject 
of  his  affection — not  for  Susan  Somerville — he  was  deter- 
mined to  be  blind,  deaf,  and  dumb,  upon  that  affair  when 
with  Louis,  unless  it  should  be  forced  upon  his  attention  in 
a  manner  that  should  compel  him  to  take  cognizance  of  it — 
but  upon  the  matter  of  his  old  childish  affection  for  Louise 
Armstrong.  This  was  with  a  view  of  discovering  the  true 
state  of  his  heart ;  for  General  Stuart-Gordon  by  no  means 
felt  the  assurance  upon  this  subject  now,  that  he  had  ex- 
pressed when  speaking  upon  it  with  Mrs.  Armstrong. 

"What  is  the  matter  Louis  between  you  and  Miss  Arm- 
gtrong  ?  You  did  not  speak  the  whole  evening,  I  think." 

"  Father,  Louise  has  been,  by  her  mother,  I  think,  fright- 
ened into  avoiding  me.  Within  the  last  few  weeks,  wher- 
ever I  have  chanced  to  meet  and  speak  to  her,  at  church,  «t 
the  village,  or  elsewhere,  she  has  exhibited  such  terror  and 
distress,  that  I  could  not,  and  cannot,  find  it  in  my  heart  to 
persecute  her  with  annoying  civilities.  I  merely  made  mj 
bow  this  evening,  on  first  entering  the  room,  and  th«c  I 
retired." 

"Do  you  like  Louise,  Louis f" 


TH«     CHBISTMJL3     PAKTY.  149 

"  Our  lives,  from  Infancy  up,  have  been  knit  together, 
father.  My  heartstrings  f.?s  interlaced  with  hers.  The 
withdrawal  of  Louise's  hsart  tears  mine." 

"  So  you  really  .io  like  Louise  ?" 

"Like  her,  father  1"  exclaimed  the  young  dan,  ia  a  tone 
of  deep  emotion. 

"  Yes,  like  her.  Well,  I  like  her  too ;  like  her  every 
way.  She  is  Vae  very  bride  I  should  select  for  you,  if  I  had 
that  privilege,  .riierefore,  marry  her,  and  receive  my  bless 
ing,"  jaid  the  old  man,  rubbing  his  hands. 

"But,  my  father,  Louise  avoids  me." 

"  Wouldn't  give  a  cent  for  a  girl  that  didn't." 

"  When  I  enter  the  room  she  leaves  it  I" 

"Follow  her  out." 

"She  hates  me." 

"  Love  her." 

"  She  will  certainly  reject  me." 

"  Then  marry  her.  Nonsense,  Louis,  do  not  you  know 
that  every  woman  is  an  Atlanta,  and  flies  only  to  excite  the 
ardor  of  pursuit  ?" 

In  the  very  next  room  to  this,  but  separated  by  a  wall  so 
thick  as  to  prevent  the  passage  of  the  sound  of  conversation, 
another  confidential  interview  was  held  between  a  parent 
and  child.  Mrs.  Armstrong  and  Louise  were  alone  in  thel 
bed-chamber,  for  Louise  had  always  shared  the  sleeping 
apartment  of  her  mother.  Mrs.  Armstrong  had  sunk  into 
an  easy  chair,  and  Louise  had  seated  herself  on  a  lo~7 
cushion  by  her  side,  with  her  head  resting  upon  her  mother's 
lap.  Mrs.  Armstrong's  ice-like  face  bad  almost  thawed,  her 
marble-like  features  were  almost  flexible,  as  here,  in  the 
privacy  of  her  bed-chamber,  she  conversed  with  her  daughter, 
•eeking— alas  !  it  was  almost  too  late — to  win  the  confi- 
dence of  the  child  whose  innocent  revelations  of  herself  had 
been  repulsed  and  driven  back,  until  all  her  thoughts  and 
feelings  were  closely,  timidly  inclosed  in  brain  and  hear4. 


150  THE 

There  was  too  much  fear  and  dread  blended  wuh  -he  lor« 
of  Louise's  idolatry  of  her  'mother,  to  admit  of  perfect 
sympathy  and  confidence.  Mrs.  Armstrong's  favorite  rnaiicn 
was,  that  "familiarity  breeds  contempt ;"  an-i  so  she  had 
"guarded  her  strangeness"  all  but  too  successfully.  Now, 
as  she  sat  there,  with  the  head  of  Louise  for  the  first  time 
•ince  infancy  laid  up*n  her  knees,  and  while  she  ran  her 
fingers  through  the  pale  hair,  she  would  have  given  much 
for  an  hour  of  the  warm,  free,  full  intercourse  of  mother  and 
daughter ;  but  the  natural  flow  of  cor  fiding  affection,  re- 
peatedly checked,  congeals  at  its  fount,  and  is  not  so  easily 
unloosed  by  the  sunshine  of  sympathy  as  the  ice-bound 
waters  are  by  spring. 

"  My  daughter,  it  appeared  to  me  that  your  manner  wai 
cold  to  Louis." 

"  Was  I  wrong,  mamma?   Indeed  I  wished  to  do  right." 

"You  were  wrong,  Louise." 

"  I  wish  I  ever  knew  what  to  do  I  Dear  mother,  am  I 
not  stupid  ?  I  try  to  do  well,  and  am  always  doing  ill. 
How  is  that  1  I  was  wrong  in  conversing  with  Louis  on 
the  ground  some  weeks  since,  and  I  am  wrong  in  not  con- 
.ersing  with  him  now.  I  am  afraid,  mother,  that  I  have  a 
very  feeble  understanding — have  I  not  ?" 

It  was  just  now,  in  this  exigency,  that  Mrs.  Armstrong 
divined  the  difficulty  of  making  a  rational  and  responsible 
moral  agent  of  one,  out  of  whom  she  had  crushed  all  free- 
dom of  thought  and  feeling. 

"  My  daughter !"  she  replied,  in  a  slightly  subdued  tone, 
"my  daughter,  'circumstances  alter  cases.'  Miss  Arm- 
•foug  in  her  own  halls  must  display  a  courtejas  hospitality 
to  Mr.  Stuart-Gordon  as  her  guest.  And,"  co jtinued  the 
lady,  sinking  her  voke  to  a  still  lower  and  rnoie  confidential 
key,  "  Louise  must  console  Louis — must  win  him  from  the 
melancholy  that  still  so  darkly  colors  his  conversation  and 
manners — my  daughter !" 


THE     CHRISTMAS     FABTT.  151 

44  My  dear  mother  1" 

"You  did  not  reply  to  me.  Understand,  Miss  Arm- 
strong,  that  I  wish  yon  to  be  amiable  to  M.  Louis  Stuart- 
Gordon." 

Louise  bowed  her  head,  in  reply. 

"Now,  my  love,  ring  the  bell  for  Kate,  th* ;  *be  m»j 
oome  and  put  your  hair  in  curl." 

Louise  obeyed. 

This  act  of  commanding  a  girl  to  be  sympathetic  was  in 
perfect  keeping  with  Mrs.  Armstrong,  who  did  not  under- 
stand sympathy.  But  in  the  course  of  a  few  days  the  astute 
ladj,  perceiving  that  her  presence  imposed  the  greatest 
possible  restraint  upon  the  manners  of  her  daughter, 
gradually  withdrew  herself  as  much  as  possible  from  her 
neighborhood,  and  covertly  watched  the  progress  of  her 
drama.  She  withdrew  herself,  and  intt  herself,  and  a  dark 
shadow  of  gloom,  bitterness,  and  rescue  settled  upon  her 
countenance.  Her  soul  was  an  instance  of  a  kingdom 
divided  against  itself.  The  destiny  she  had  designed  for 
her  daughter  was  certainly  approaching.  Yet,  as  it  drew 
on  and  on  toward  its  consummation,  the  cloud  darkened 
blacker  and  blacker  upon  the  brow  of  the  mother. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

•UBAN    BOMERYILLK. 

They  neom'd  to  those  who  RAW  them  BMt, 

The  worldly  friend*  of  every  day  ; 
Her  smile  w*»  unJisturb'd  and  sweet, 

Hit  courtesy  was  free  and  gay  ; 
And  yet  if  one  the  other's  name 

In  eome  nnjfnarded  moment  heard, 
The  heart  you  thought  BO  cold  »nd  tame 

Would  natter  like  a  captive  bird.— Xilntt. 

Tc  Ac  morbidly  fastidious  nature  of  Louis  Stuart-Gor- 
ton, V»*re  was  something  extremely  repulsive  in  the  idea  of 
the  interference  of  a  third  party  in  his  wooing,  even  when 
that  third  party  was  his  father,  and  well-wisher  in  his  suit. 
Handlmg,  however  tenderly,  brushes  the  down  from  the 
wing  oi  the  butterfly — love.  He  found  a  difficulty  in  court- 
ing "to  order,"  even  the  girl  he  loved.  "Marry  Louise" 
— he  wished  no  less ;  but  now,  if  he  did  but  speak  to  her, 
look  at  her,  he  felt  himself  watched — watched  with  a  solicit- 
ous affection,  with  a  bon  voyage  to  his  suit,  it  is  true,  but 
•till  vatvked;  and  his  delicate  Cupid  folded  its  wings, 
tccked  its  head  beneath  one,  bird  fashion,  and  would  have 
composed  itself  to  sleep  but  that  an  incident  roused  and 
•larmcd  hlui.  This  was  the  assiduous  attentions  of  Wil'ii 
Licdslay  to  Louise — to  his  Louise — his  delicate  flow.r- 
his  sheltered  exotic,  whose  greatest  cbarm  for  him  vas  her 
rare  crystalline  purity  from  the  contact  of  the  world — from 
those  frequent,  so-called,  harmless,  but  really  debasing  flirta- 
tions, in  which  the  aroma  of  a  girl's  first  affections  are  apt 
to  be  exhaled — from  those  pressures  of  the  hand,  glancing! 
of  the  eyes — from  those  sighi,  and  tears,  and  whispered 
(1*S) 


S  U  8  1  N     SOMEBVILLK. 

tones  of  love,  that,  breathed  upon  his  flower,  would 
carried  off  its  dew,  and  withered  its  freshness  fo?  him.  You 
will  smile,  reader,  but  it  is  a  fact  that  Louis  Stuart-Gordon 
congratulated  himself  that  his  little  lady-love  had  neither 
b  -other  nor  father  to  familiarize  her  with  what  his  rr>orL" « 
delicacy  termed  coarse  caresses — nay,  that  even  her  mother 
was  too  cold  and  proud  to  touch  the  polished  brow  of  the 
girl  with  her  lips.  True,  vitality  had  been  chilled  within 
her,  but  it  was  not  dead — he  could  warm  her  to  life  again — 
and  such  a  life  of  love !  These  had  been  the  thoughts, 
wishes,  and  intentions  of  Louis  Stuart-Gordon.  Now,  how- 
ever, his  divinity  was  iu  danger  of  losing  in  his  eyes  some 
of  her  exclusive  glory  ;  ever  close  by  her  side,  stooping  to 
her  ear,  and  whispering  in  a  low  and  love-tuned  voice,  stood 
Willis  Lindslay.  How  he  sped  in  his  wooing  it  was  im- 
possible to  tell,  from  the  habitually  subdued  and  quiet 
manner  of  Louise. 

The  life,  the  sting,  of  jealousy,  is  its  uncertainty.  Where 
there  is  assurance  one  way  or  the  other,  the  passion  may 
become  love  and  joy,  or  it  may  become  despair  or  revenge 
but  it  ceases  to  be  jealousy.  How  dissimilar,  in  unlike 
natures,  are  the  manifestations  of  passion  and  emotion 
How  various,  in  different  subjects,  is  the  pathology  ot 
jealousy.  In  the  bosom  of  Louis  Stnart-Gordon,  its  rise 
was  slow,  sorrowful,  rather  than  sudden  or  angry,  disposing 
him  to  self-immolation,  rather  than  to  vengeance. 

"  If  Louise,  my  darling  Louise,  falls  away  from  the  affec- 
tion of  her  infancy  and  childhood,  of  all  her  young  life — if 
she  has  ceased  to  love  me,  and  has  given  her  heart  to  this 
happier  cousin  of  hers — why  then — what  then  ?  Shall  I 
dim  her  joy  with  the  knowledge  of  my  sufferings?  No, 
Louise !  that  may  be  demon-love,  but  it  is  not  angel-love— 
it  is  not  even  human  love.  No,  Louise  1  I  would  not  cast 
the  shadow  of  another  cloud  upon  that  young  brow — too 
overcast  already.  No,  darling  Louise !  be  happy — and 


154  THJ5     MOTHEB-IN-LAW. 

God  give  ine  some  other  way  of  contributing  to  her  happi 
ness.  I  will  even  enrich  that  poor,  young  cousin,  if  hii 
poverty  stand  in  the  way  of  your  union,  Louise !  I  will  be 
the  unseen  providence  of  your  happiness,  Louise  ;  and  then 
— and  then  ! — a  sf-ort  life,  God  !  oh,  God  I  a  short  'ife.'" 

So  saying,  Louis  Stuart-Gordon,  with  the  thought  of  the 
happiness  of  OMe  being  absorbing  his  mind,  went  straight  to 
make  the  misery  of  another. 

There  are  more  mistakes  made,  more  sins  committed, 
more  wrongs  done,  by  mere  thoughtlessness,  than  by  all  the 
evil  propensities  and  malign  passions  put  together. 

There  was  in  the  soft  seeming  form,  serene  countenance, 
and  quiet  tone  of  Miss  Somerville,  a  mesmerizing  influence 
that  possessed  the  power  of  composing  the  most  turbulent 
emotions  of  the  most  disquieted  souls  that  approached  her. 
I  believe  she  could  by  her  look  and  tone  have  calmed  a 
maniac.  How  healthful  was  her  influence  upon  the  mor- 
bidly excitable  temperament  of  Louis-Stuart  Gordon  ;  but, 
oh  I  at  what  a  fearful  price  she  imparted  it!  When  the 
diseased  woman  touched  the  hem  of  the  Saviour's  garment, 
Christ  felt  "virtue  depart  from"  him.  The  health  that 
healed  the  sick,  the  strength  that  raised  the  feeble,  departed 
from  the  Saviour — and  how  ill  and  weak  it  loft  him  in  Geth- 
gemane  1  How  ill  and  weak,  until  "  angels  ministered  unto 
him,  strengthening  him  !"  It  is  not  irreverent  to  say  that 
the  life  of  the  humblest  disciple  has  its  type  in  the  life  of 
Christ  1 

Grief  for  the  loss  of  his  mother,  separation  from  Louise, 
ennui,  tedium  vitce,  the  maturing  and  the  disquiet  of  ener- 
gies that  had  not  yet  found  their  proper  direction,  the 
ycuthful  want  of  'ove  rather  than  love  itself,  these  were  tbe 
nixed  motives  fiat  first  drove  Louis  to  seek  solace  in  the 
company  of  Susan  Soraerville, — little  dreaming  that,  while 
be  was  gaining  from  her  health,  strength,  and  cheerfulness, 
that  she  was  ksing  the  same  tc  him.  Her  soft  mannen 


SUSAN     SOHERYILL1.  160 

were  so  soothing  to  him,  how  could  he  deem  that  the  peact 
that  was  falling  upon  his  spirits  was  departing  from  heral 
that,  in  benefiting  him,  she  was  growing  to  lov?  him  ?  that, 
In  loving  him,  she  was  losing  her  old  tranquillity,  her  inde- 
pendence, ay,  for  a  while,  the  very  power  of  guiding  hei 
own  life  ?  And  so,  day  after  day,  thoughtlessly  he  had 
Tisited  her,  sat  by  her  side,  read,  conversed  with  her,  until 
his  society  became  a  habit,  a  necessity  to  her,  in  propor- 
tion as  his  returning  cheerfulness  rendered  her's  needless  to 
him.  Now,  at  Mont  Crystal,  he  sought  again  the  society 
of  Susan  Somerville  as  a  balm  for  the  deep  wounds  hia 
heart  had  received  in  the  supposed  defection  of  Louise ; 
and  he  met  again  the  same  sweet  welcome,  the  same  gentle 
glances  and  soft  tones  that  ever  fell,  like  cooling  dew,  upon 
the  fever  of  his  spirits. 

And  Susan, — how  fared  it  with  her  ?  Calm,  cool,  and 
wise  in  all  other  affairs,  in  this  she  was  but  too  blind  She 
nad  suffered  her  heart,  not  head,  to  interpret  the  meaning 
»f  Louis's  constant  visits,  his  long  tarrying,  his  earnest 
glances,  and  his  breathless  listening  for  her  words ;  and, 
even  as  Zoe  had  received  the  silent  manifestations  of  her 
lover's  regard  in  all  confidence,  so  S'isan  accepted  the  tacit 
friendship  of  Louis,  translating  it  love  ;  and  if  she  lost  her 
•erenity  and  grew  hurried  and  agitated,  it  was  as  yet  rather 
with  hope  than  with  fear. 

It  was  under  these  circumstances  that,  upoo  one  -Hom- 
ing about  a  week  after  their  arrival  at  Mont  Crystal, 
Louis  sought  the  side  of  Susan  Somerville.  The  family 
had  not  yet  assembled  to  breakfast,  and  she  was  the  sole 
occupant  of  the  drawing-room.  She  was  seated  upon  that 
crimson  sofa  at  the  extremity  cf  the  saloon.  Louis  en- 
tered, slowly  sauntering  toward  her,  and  took  the  seat  DJ 
her  sice,  dropped  his  head  upon  his  open  palms  and  mar 
mured, — 

44  Susan,  dear  Susan." 


166  THE     MOTHXB-IN-LAW. 

«  Louis." 

That  was  al'  she  said,  but  the  round,  full,  melodious  toni 
In  which  that  single  wor  *  waa  breathed  might  hare  stilled 
tb*  tumult  of  a  tempest. 

"Stsan,  I  have  need  ot  tVe— I  have  need  of  thy  affec- 
tion ;  give  it  me,  Scsar.  He-e  !  v^y  one  cool  hand  on  my 
How,  the  other  ou  my  heart — PO.  Sr.san,  I  ba\o  neithef 
mother,  sister,  nor  love;  and  I  do  need  some  iceman's 
affection  so  much — give  me  yours,  Susan." 

"Yon  have  my  best  love — you  shall  have  my  best  effort! 
to  promote  your  happiness,  dear  Louia  " 

"  Thank  you,  my  dearest  sister — tba  i"«r  you,  S'isan.  Alas, 
Susan,  you  will  despite  me ;  I  au  growing  sentimental, 
maudlin,  mawkish ;  I  am  beginning  to  despise  myself. 
Susan,  give  me  the  secret  of  your  cheerfulness — of  the 
cheerfulness  of  all  the  people  I  see  around  me.  How  is  it 
that  they  live  without  a  gr«*t  love,  Susan  ?  How  dc  they 
fill  up  their  hearts  ?  Why  Cannot  /do  so  ?  Is  it  for  the 
want  of  good  mother  wit,  feood  strong  common-sense, 
Susan,  that  I  moan  my  hear*  out  because  a  young,  pale, 
frail,  trembling  girl  does  not  -eturn  my  love  ?  Tell  me, 
Susan." 

Susan  Somerville  had  been  startled  by  the  commencement 
of  his  last  speech,  had  grown  pale  as  it  progressed,  and  at 
its  conclusion  she  replied,  in  a  sink:ng>  voice — 

"I  do  not  at  all  understand  yon,  dear  Louis." 

"  Ah,  my  sister  Susan !  I  love  an*)  adore  Louise  Arm- 
strong, while  she  has  given  her  heart  t*  another  pity  me, 
Susan." 

"  I  do,  I  do  indeed,"  murmured  Snsan  in  a  dying  tone. 
"But  I  pity  you  because  you  are  I  lind  ;  sh«  does  not  lovt 
any  one  except  her  mother." 

"  Are  you  sure  of  what  you  say,  Susan  ?" 

"Very  sure  of  it,  Louis.  And  now  I  must  bW  jr-  fp«*4 
morning." 


•  UBJLN     SOMEBVILL1.  157 

And  BO  saying,  the  girl  arose  and  left  the  room.  Meet- 
ing a  servant,  she  requested  him  to  have  Major  Somerville's 
horses  saddled  and  brought  around. 

Susan  Somerville  passed  on  up  the  stairs,  her  smooth 
white  cheeks  a  shade  paler,  her  quiet  step  a  degree  slower, 
her  calm  voice  a  tone  lower — these  were  all  the  signs  the 
»O8t  acute  observer  could  have  discovered  of  the  darkness, 
coldness,  desolation,  that  bad  fallen  upon  the  poor  girl's 
life.  I  know  that  this  word  "desolation"  is  strong — is 
hackneyed.  Yet,  let  the  reader  remember  that  a  first  dis- 
appointment in  the  affections,  falls  upon  the  young  heart 
like  the  knell  of  a  doom  more  terrible  than  the  death  of  the 
body — a  spiritual  annihilation.  To  them  the  destruction 
of  their  love  hopes  is  indeed  despair,  "desolation."  They 
have  seen  the  sun  set  for  the  first  time,  and  have  no  expe- 
rience to  teach  them  that  it  will  rise  again.  They  have  seen 
vegetation  blighted  by  a  first  frost — rivers  and  brooklets 
frozen  by  a  first  winter,  and  they  have  no  knowledge  that 
flowers  will  bloom  and  waters  flow  in  a  second  spring.  Ah  1 
no ;  the  darkness  of  perpetual  night,  the  coldness  of  eternal 
winter,  the  agony  of  an  infinite  void,  seems  within  and 
around  them.  The  long  weary  years  of  life,  stretching  out 
toward  the  future,  seem  too  terrible  to  bear.  Death  would 
be  welcome  to  the  most  cowardly  during  this  heart-sickness. 
So  felt  Susan,  as  she  passed  slowly  np  the  stairs,  without  a 
single  thought  in  her  mind,  with  only  the  feeling  of  a  hor- 
rible nightmare  of  the  spirit  weighing  her  down.  She 
eould  not  think,  she  could  only  feel.  She  could  not  wonder 
why  the  sunlight  glancing  through  the  window  on  the  stair- 
landing,  fell  gloomily  upon  her — why  the  distant  shouts  of 
Gertrude  Lion's  laughter  grated  harshly  upon  her  ear — why 
the  flashing  of  Britannia's  purple  satin  dress,  bright  ring- 
lets, and  sparkling  face,  as  ghe  bowed  and  smiled  her  hastjr 
good  morning,  in  crossing  the  upper  passage,  struck  pain- 
folly  upon  her— why  all  the  gay  sights,  merry  sounds,  happj 


168  THI     MOTHKR-IN-LAW. 

Borroandinjs,  were  snddenly  in  discord  with  her — jarring, 
grating,  torturing  her  nerves.  She  did  not  think,  she  only 
felt.  It  is  at  a  long  distance  that  one  can  look  back  *ad 
analyze  emotion — reason  upon  feeling.  Instinctively  and 
mechanically  she  closed  the  window  sbutteis  of  her  room, 
laid  down  upon  her  bed,  and  doubled  the  pillow  around  her 
bead,  and  in  the  deep  darkness  and  profound  silence  of  hsr 
chamber,  her  whole  consciousness  of  existence  merged  iato 
one  absorbing  sense  of  loss.  The  alarum  of  the  breakfast 
bell  did  not  arouse  her.  Half  an  hour  after  it  soiinded,  a 
soft  hand  laid  upon  her  hand  that  clasped  the  pillow  over 
her  ears,  a  soft  voice  murmuring  close  by  her  side,  caused 
her  to  put  aside  the  smothering  pillow,  and  look  up.  Her 
maid,  Anna,  who  had  attended  her  to  Mont  Crystal,  was 
standing  by  her  side,  now  looking  with  sad  surprise  at  the 
disordered  dress,  disheveled  hair,  and  pa'.o  face  of  her 
mistress. 

"  Yon  are  ill,  Miss  Susan,"  said  she,  taking  her  hand, 
and  looking  with  earnest  affection  at  her  fallen  features. 

"  No,  Anna,"  replied  Miss  Somerville,  rising  upon  her 
elbow.  Anna  looked  at  her  keenly,  incredulously,  then  in 
her  turn  growing  very  pale,  she  inquired,  hurriedly,  ear- 
nestly— 

"Have  you  heard  from  The  Crags?  Has  anything 
happened  there,  Miss  Susan  ?" 

"  No,  Anna,  nothing.  And  now,  Anna,  do  not  question 
me  further.  Dou't  look  distressed,  Anna, — I  am  not  dis- 
pleased with  you,  my  dear  Anna ;  and  I — but  I  am  very, 
very,  very  tired  of  everything  and  of  almost  everybody." 
And  Susan  Somerville  slowly  arose,  gathered  up  her  long 
hair  in  her  hands,  let  it  fall  again  heavily  with  a  de*ep  sigh, 
and  finally  resigned  herself  into  Anna's  hands,  to  have  hef 
toilet  re-arranged  for  breakfast.  Immediately  after  break- 
fast, Susan  Somerville  intimated  to  her  grandfather  her 
Retire  to  return  borne ;  and,  on  receiving  bis  consent  to  the 


SUSAN     SOMERVILLB.  169 

proposal,  announced  to  her  hostess  their  intention  of  return 
Ing  to  The  Crags. 

Through  the  delay  of  Major  Soraerville  their  departura 
was  deferred  till  after  dinner,  so  that  it  was  nightfall  before 
they  found  themselves  ascending  the  rocky  aeclivity  leading 
to  The  Crags,  and  it  was  pitch-dark  when  they  alighted  at 
the  door.  Susan  went  at  once  to  her  room  to  change  her 
dress,  and  Anna,  after  helping  her  aged  master  to  disen- 
cumber himself  of  his  great  coat  and  leggings,  and  after 
handing  him  his  dressing-gown  and  slippers  and  settling 
him  in  his  dozing  chair,  went  out  into  the  kitchen,  and  tak- 
ing her  mother  aside,  said, — 

"  Mother,  Miss  Susan  is  very  unhappy  about  something ; 
some  sudden  grief  has  fallen  upon  her.  Mother,  what  is  it  ? 
and  what  can  we  do  to  relieve  her  ?  Miss  Susan  is  wretch- 
ed I — indeed  she  is  1" 

"Anna,  perhaps  she  has  discovered  the  ruin  that  threat- 
ens us  every  hour  I" 

"  No,  indeed,  she  has  not, — far  wide  of  it.  She  knows 
aer  father  is  in  debt,  at  the  mercy  of  his  creditors ;  but  she 
does  not  know  how  near,  how  imminent,  how  inevitable  our 
ruin  is  I  No,  thank  God  !  she  does  not  yet  know  ;  for  even 
when  I  forget  to  guard  myself,  when  1  manifest  anxiety  or 
grief,  the  dear  girl  ascribes  it  to  my  condition,  as  if  I  could 
realize  it  in  her  gentle  service !  She  thinks  I  am  self-seek- 
ing and  ambitious  :  she  does  not  know  me.  No,  mother: 
some  other  deeper  sorrow  preys  upon  Miss  Somerville'a 
mind ;  and  it  is  you,  mother,  who  must  tell  me  how  to  corn* 
fort  her  ;  for  you  have  lived  long  and  know  everything, — I 
know  ubthing." 

Harris  was  kneading  dough  :  she  paused  in  her  occup* 
fcisn  and  seemed  to  reflect,  then  she  asked, — 

"Is  Mr.  Stuart-Gordon  at  Mont  Crystal?" 

"Yes." 

"  WM  he  attentive  to  Miss  Suaji  P 


1(JO  THB     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

"Yes." 

"  What  do  they  say  about  him  there  ?" 

"That  he  has  long  been  engaged  to  Miss  Aimstrong, 
and  that  this  Christmas  party  is  in  honor  of  their  renewed 
betrothal." 

"  I  feared  so  1  Miss  Somerville  needed  a  mother  to 
watch  over  her.  After  all,  a  nurse — one  in  my  position—- 
cannot meet  every  want  in  a  young  lady's  daily  life.  But, 
new,  listen,  Anna.  We  must  keep  our  young  lady  quiet, 
comfortable,  and  occupied.  Subdue  everything  to  soothe 
her  excited  nerves.  Let  no  sunlight  into  her  room.  Do 
not  let  the  fire  blaze  too  brightly — keep  all  loud  noises  far 
from  her — temper  even  your  own  services  for  her,  so  that 
they  do  not  become  obtrusive.  And  now,  go  and  set  the 
table,  and  make  all  things  comfortable,  my  child." 

The  woman  who  gave  this  advice  was  no  common,  coarse- 
minded  menial.  The  reader  need  not  be  surprised  at  this. 
Delicacy  in  perception  of  character  and  emotion,  and  in 
adaptation  and  manifestation  of  sympathy,  is  the  result  of 
cultivated  affections  rather  than  of  educated  intellect.  And 
Harriet  possessed  the  first  in  a  large  degree. 

The  Christmas  party  lasted  a  fortnight  at  Mont  Crystal. 
At  the  end  of  that  time,  Louis  Stuart-Gordon  and  Louise 
Hector  Armstrong  were  affianced.  Upon  the  strength  of 
the  new  relations,  Mrs.  Armstrong  was  induced  to  accept 
the  earnest  invitation  extended  by  General  Stuart-Gordon 
to  herself,  Miss  Armstrong  and  Miss  O'Riley,  to  pass  a  few 
days  at  the  Isle  of  Rays.  It  was  while  the  family  of  Mont 
Crystal  were  staying  at  the  Island  Palace,  that  the  marriage 
day  of  the  youthful  couple  was  fixed  for  the  twenty-second 
of  the  next  month,  Fibruary,  the  anniversary  of  their  birth, 
when  Louis  should  complete  his  eighteenth,  and  Louise  her 
tixteenth  year. 


CHAPTER  XYII. 

BBUTU8     LION. 

HU  face  is  dark-net  very  quiet ; 
It  teems  like  looking  down  the  threat'nlng  month 
Of  cone  great  cannon.— John  Sterling. 

MAY  the  devil  fly  away  with  Zoe  !  God  bless  her  \* 
cursed  Brutus  Lion,  as  hills  and  valleys  sped  be- 
towd  his  flying  horse's  hoofs.  "Drown  Zoe !  for  a  blind 
kitten  or  a  supernumerary  puppy  1  What  is  she,  a  little 
quilt-piecing,  carpet-sewing  huzzy,  that  I  should  be  worried 
by  her  ?  Is  she  a  hunting-knife,  a  gun,  or  a  game-bag,  that 
I  should  wish  to  possess  her  ?  A  shot-flask,  or  a  powder- 
horn,  that  I  should  want  her  hung  about  my  neck  ?  A 
horn  or  a  hound,  a  pointer  or  a  setter,  that  I  should  need 
her  every  hour  ?  Have  I  been  so  used  to  her,  that  I  should 
miss  her  every  moment  ?  Confound  Zoe!  God  love  her! 
Is  she  either  deer,  fox,  pigeon,  or  goose,  that  I  should  be 
for  ever  hunting  her  ?  Now  this  morning  !  a  fine  morning  ! 
a  glorious  morning  1  when  my  blood  is  heaving  up  like  the  sea 
at  high  tide — when  Earthquake  is  champing  the  bit  and 
pawing  the  ground — when  Thunder  and  Lightning  are 
snuffing  the  air — when  the  scent  would  lie  so  beautifully— 
upon  this  sublime  morning  created  for  a  hunter — what  am  I 
about  to  do  ?  By  Nimrod  !  Going  to  school  to  learn  ton, 
tit  ta.  No  wonder  Gertrude  laughs  at  me.  By  thunder, 
isn't  it !  I,  with  my  giant  limbs  and  thick  head,  sitting  down 
with  my  elbows  on  a  table,  and  "  Readings  from  Herodotus" 
before  me.  Sink  Herodotus  I  Come  I  Enough  of  this 
nonsense  I  Fire  the  old  schoolmaster  with  his  pride  and  hii 
Greekomanial  I'll  have  done  with  this  tomfoolery.  Ill 

(111) 


162  THl     MOTHER-INLAW. 

marry  Zoe  at  once — and  I'll  see  who'll  prevent  me !  Then 
I  shall  have  a  right,  as  his  son-in-law,  or  his  adopted  son- 
in-law,  to  support  the  old  man,  without  having  to  learn  les- 
sons— devil  take  them  !  into  the  bargain,  by  way  of  saving 
his  pride  !  I'll  marry  Zoe — I  will  do  itf"  thundered  Brutus, 
bringing  his  hand  down  so  heavily  on  the  flank  of  his  horse, 
that  the  beast  bounded  under  him.  Then,  falling  into  a 
more  thoughtful  mood  and  a  slower  pace,  he  muttered  to 
himself — "And  Gertrude  Lion,  Satan  fleece  her !  Gertrude, 
with  her  fierce  blue  eyes,  her  rolling  yellow  mane — that  cat- 
aract of  golden  hair — and  her  shouts  of  laughter  1  Ger- 
trude Lion,  with  her  body  of  adamant  and  soul  of  frost, 
with  her  sneers,  scoffs,  and  unbelief!  0  my  God  1  I  would 
give  half  my  patrimony  to  any  fine  fellow  who  would  win 
the  love  and  break  the  spirit  of  that  sister  of  mine — for 
without  a  doubt  it  would  be  doing  her  and  me  a  service. 
But  who  could  do  it?  Strong  as  a  lion,  wild  as  a  chamois, 
aspiring  as  an  eagle,  and  colder,  harder,  than  anything  that 
lives — cold  as  an  iceberg,  hard  as  a  rock,  is  Gertrude  Lion  I 
And  she  will  not  sympathize  with  me,  will  not  love,  my  Zoe, 
or  agree  to  accept  her  as  a  sister.  And  my  Zoe  will  not 
venture  to  encounter  her  scorn.  Zoe  is  proud,  the  little 
wretch  I  as  if  she  were  called  upon  to  be  proud  with  me,  01 
for  me.  Who  to  see  Zoe  about  her  domestic  affairs,  would 
suspect  the  substratum  of  self-appreciation  that  forms  the 
basis  of  her  character,  or  suppose  that  she  could  say  to  me, 
MB,  the  last  of  the  Lions — '  Brutus,  I  am  a  penniless  girl, 
and  you  a  millionaire/  I  am  a  nameless,  and  you  are  Lion 
of  the  Lair.  I  am  a  foundling,  a  child  dropped  from  the 
clouds,  thrown  up  by  the  tide — parentless,  forsaken,  un- 
claimed. You  are  descended  from  a  family  that  dates  back 
to  the  Norman  Conquest !  Brutus,  I  can  never  be  your 
wife  I  Mr.  Lion  I  am  your  very  humble  servant !'  Think 
of  the  irony,  the  impudenre  of  that  1  Just  as  though  I 
had  oot  the  power — I,  Brutus  Lion  of  the  Lair,  to  raise  any 


BRUTUS     LIOK.  168 

girl,  however  hnmble,  into  the  jrst  rank.  What  a  devil  of 
a  mistake  in  Zoe  to  foster  proud  scruples  against  '  entering 
a  haughty  family  against  the  consent  of  any  one  of  its  mem- 
bers.' 'Any  one  of  its  members!'  meaning  no  'one'  but 
Qusen  Gertrude.  If  /  am  satisfied,  if  I  can  overlook  the 
obscurity  of  her  birth,  Zoe  should  be.  If /am  pleased,  let 
others,  meaning  Mistress  Gertrude  again,  submit!  And 
they  shall.  I'll  not  put  up,  one  week  longer,  with  the 
schoolmaster's  pride  and  Greek,  with  Zoe's  self-esteem,  or 
with  Gertrude's  arrogance.  I  love  Zoe,  and  Zoe  loves  me ; 
and  that  gives  me  a  claim  to  her.  That  love  is  a  deed  of 
assignment  written  on  her  heart  by  the  hand  of  Nature,  and 
it  is  my  warrant  for  taking  her.  Hold,  eh,  Earthquake 
here  we  are  !"  exclaimed  Brutus,  bounding  with  a  shock,  to 
the  ground,  turning  his  horse  loose,  and  striding  on  to  the 
cottage. 

He  rapped  for  etiquette,  but,  without  waiting  to  be  ad- 
mitted, pushed  the  door  open,  and  entered.  The  same 
bright,  clean  cottage — the  same  fresh,  gay  domestic  carpet 
— the  same  blazing  wood-fire — the  same  gentle,  busy  little 
housewife  by  its  side.  The  only  new  feature  was  the  pine 
table  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  with  the  schoolmaster's 
chair  at  one  end,  and  with  Greek  books  piled  up  on  it. 

"  What,  no  one  here  yet — where  is  the  old  man,  Zoe  1" 
inquired  Brutus,  on  seeing  that  she  was  the  sole  occupant 
of  the  room. 

"  Father  has  not  returned  from  Major  Somerville's,  where 
he  went  yesterday  evening.  But  I  expect  him  every  mo- 
ment ;  and,  as  you  see,  his  class  has  not  yet  assembled. 
Indeed,  dear  Brutus,"  added  she,  "if  it  were  not  for  your 
punctual  attendance,  our  class  might  be  said  to  be  broken 
up.  Britannia  does  nft  come  now  ;  she  is  too  busy  assist- 
ing Mrs.  Armstrong  to  prepare  for  the  wedding." 

"  What  wedding  ?" 

"  That  of  Mr.  Stuart-Gordon  and  Miss  Armstrong  " 


164  THE     MOTHKB-IK-LIW. 

"  Those  children — nonsense  !" 

"  They  are  going  to  be  married  on  the  22d  of  next  month, 
the  birthday  of  Lonis  and  Louise." 

"And  Low  old  will  their  reverences  be  then  ?" 

"Louis  will  be  eighteen,  and  Louise  sixteen." 

"  And  I,  Zoe,  am  twenty-four ;  and  you,  Zoe,  are  seven- 
teen.  Come,  see  how  much  time  we  are  losing.  Zoe,  my 
darling,  to-morrow  is  somebody's  birthday,  or  somebody 
else's ;  or,  at  all  events,  some  other  day  is,  if  it  is  not  mine 
or  yours  ;  therefore,  Zoe,  go  to  church  with  me  to-morrow ; 
will  you ! — say,  Zoe,  won't  you  ?  Just  do,  Zoe,  that's  a 
good  girl.  Will  you  ?  I'll  take  such  good  care  of  you. 
Zoe ;  and  the  cameo-colored  pointer,  and  the  old  man,  and 
the  tortoise-shell  kitten,  too  !  say,  Zoe,  speak." 

"  Brutus." 

"Brutus!     Well?     Hal     Brutus!     What?" 

"Brutus,  you  know  I  cannot." 

"  Cannot  I  Ob,  nonsense,  Zoe.  Fiddlestick  and  the 
devil  about  'canjnot.'  You  can,  you  must.  Listen,  Zoe; 
I  have  not  told  you  all  yet.  It  is  very  comfortable  at  the 
Lair.  Listen  ;  very  for  you,  and  the  old  man,  too  ;  and 
the  tortoise-shell  kitten,  and  the  pointer.  The  pointer  I 
•hall  take  under  my  protection.  There  is  a  quantity  of  rats 
for  the  use  and  amusement  of  the  kitten,  and  such  a  lot  of 
old  books  for  the  schoolmaster.  Very  learned  books  they 
must  be,  for  they  smell  very  musty ;  and  listen,  Zoe,  I  have 
not  told  you  the  best  yet.  There  is  an  inexhaustible  lot  of 
old  coats,  cloaks,  and  trowsers,  long  past  mending,  of  which 
you  can  make  an  infinite  number  of  carpets,  which  will  be 
the  more  interesting,  because  there  is  not  a  floor-carpet  in 
the  whole  house  at  the  Lair.  Just  think  of  it,  Zoe.  Gra- 
cious, Zoe,  won't  you  enjoy  yourself?" 

Zoe  sighed  deeply,  and  answered  with  a  charming 
naivete— 

"  Yes,  indeed,  Brutus ;  it  woold,  as  you  say,  jfi»e  me  great 


I  BUI  US     LION.  166 

delight  to  reduce  all  that  chaos  into  order — to  metamor- 
phose several  barrels  of  o!^!  rags  into  several  beautiful  car- 
pet*, to  cover  your  bare  floors.  It  would  all  be  very  nice 
and  very  interesting,  but  you  know  I  can't.  Oh,  Brutus, 
you  know  I  can't." 

"  '  Can't,'  '  can't,'  it  is  all  can't,  I  believe.  Why  can't 
yon,  then,  if  one  may  ask  ?"  said  he,  going  towards  her, 
dragging  his  chair,  sitting  down  by  her,  and  putting  1m  arm* 
•round  her  waist  to  draw  her  upon  his  lap. 

She  gently  withdrew  herself,  saying — 

"  Brutus,  I  am  in  earnest !  I  am  not  a  coquette,  practic- 
ing npon  your  affection.  I  am  in  earnest ;  therefore  respect 
me,  Brutus." 

"  Prude— peacock— rock— icicle  I" 

"  None  of  the  four,  Brutus,  but  simply  eerious.  I  tell 
you  that  my  adopted  father  says  that  an  invincible  obstacle 
to  our  union  exists.  That  being  the  case,  Brutus,  you 
should  consider  me  as  one  set  apart — a  nun — and  respect 
my  isolation." 

"  '  Invincible  obstacle  !'  I  wonder  if  you  are  my  sister  ? 
Can't  be — both  my  parents  being  dead  twenty  years.  May 
be  yon  are  a  leper,  or  subject  of  hydrophobia.  Say,  ar* 
you  sound  in  mind  and  body,  Zoe  ?" 

Zoe  laughed. 

"  How  do  I  know !  I  sleep  sound  and  eat  hearty,  and 
and  have  a  good  memory  and  a  good  power  of  calculation  ; 
for  the  rest,  I  never  should  know  I  had  a  body,  if  I  did  not 
sometimes  see  it  in  the  glass ;  and  I  should  be  unconscious 
of  a  mind  if  I  did  not  sometimes  overlook  it." 

"Perhaps  you  are  too  high  for  me — may  be  George 
Third's  daughter  ;  or  too  low  for  me — may  be  Kate  Jump- 
er's child.  Zoe,  have  you  any  idea  of  what  this  '  invincible 
•bitacle'ii?" 

"Not  the  slightest." 

"  Zoe,  there  is  no  obstacle  1    I  MJ  It,  Zoe.    The  devil  I 


166  THE     MOTHXR-1K-L1.W. 

Don't  make  me  swear.  What  obstacle  can  exist,  if  I  chooM 
to  look  it  out  of  existence  ?" 

Before  Zoe  had  time  to  reply,  the  cottage  door  opened, 
and  the  old  schoolmaster  entered. 

"  How  do  yon  do,  Brutus  ?  What !  no  one  here  but  you  f  * 
inquired  the  old  man,  as  he  sank  into  the  chair  Brutus  hast- 
ened to  baud  him. 

"Where  is  Miss  Lion— where  is  Miss   O'Riley  ?" 

"Miss  O'Riley  is  particularly  engaged  at  home,  as  I 
understand,  and  my  sister  is  breaking  in  a  colt  to-day,  and 
begs  you  will  excuse  her  attendance.  That  latter  clause  is 
a  lie,  by  the  way,"  whispered  Brutus  to  himself;  "  Gertrude 
never  sent  an  excuse  in  her  life." 

"Excuse  her — excuse  her,"  exclaimed  the  old  man,  in  a 
sharp  and  rasping  tone  ;  "  excuse  her  !  yes,  I'll  excuse  her 
attendance,  but  not  the  payment  of  her  fees.  Her  lesson 
will  be  charged  all  the  same  as  though  she  had  received  it.' 

Had  a  shell  fallen  and  exploded  in  their  midst,  the  asto- 
aishment,  the  consternation  of  Zoe  could  not  have  been 
greater.  At  the  first  words  of  his  last  reply,  she  had 
pricked  up  her  ears  incredulously;  she  heard  his  conclusion 
with  dumb-founded  amazement.  Her  old  father — her  sim- 
ple, child-like,  old  father — grown  mercenary.  Her  liberal 
father  grown  miserly.  Her  generous  father  grown  exacting. 

"  Yes,  you  may  look  at  me,"  continued  the  old  man, 
doggedly  drawing  his  chair  to  the  fire,  "  yon  may  look  at 
Me,  Zoe.  Brutus,  get  your  lesson  ;  you  have  nothing  to 
do  with  gazing  at  my  daughter.  You  may  look  at  me, 
Zoe,  but  I  am  determined  to  turn  over  a  new  leaf,  I  am. 
determined  not  to  be  imposed  upon  any  longer.  I  am  de- 
termined to  have  money,  money,  money!  And  that  re« 
minds  me,  Brutus,  that  it  is  time  for  you  to  pa;  your  second 
month,  if  you  are  going  to  pay  it  in  advance." 

Zoe  looked  at  the  old  man,  and  then  at  the  surprised  and 
perplexed  face  of  Brutus,  and  pressed  both  small  hand*  to- 


BBUTUS    LION.  167 

gather.  Glad,  perhaps,  to  have  an  excuse  for  leaving  the 
hateful  lessons,  now  that  the  presence  of  the  old  man  im- 
posed a  restraint  upon  his  conversation  with  Zoe,  Bratns 
Lion  arose  to  his  feet,  and  reaching  his  hat,  said, 

"  5Tes,  I  forgot ;  this  is  the  first  of  the  month.  Suffer  me 
to  return  home,  and  I  will  bring  my  own  and  my  sister's 
tuition  fees  for  February." 

"  Yes.  I  suffer  you ;  go,  go,"  said  the  old  man,  holding 
open  the  door  for  him  to  pass. 

"  No,  Brutus,  no ;  don't  go,"  exclaimed  Zoe,  springing 
past  her  father,  and  catching  his  hand.  "  Father  is  ill; 
he  does  not  know  what  he  is  talking  of.  Don't  you  see  he 
is  ill  ?" 

"  Sit  down,  Zoe,"  growled  the  old  man. 

"  I  will  return  soon,  dear  Zoe,"  said  Brutus,  hurrying 
from  the  door. 

"  Oh,  father  I"  said  Zoe,  dropping  into  a  chair,  "  for  yon 
to  serve  Brutus  so." 

But  the  sight  of  the  old  man  startled  her.  He  had  sunk 
into  a  chair,  pale  and  exhausted,  and  tears  were  coursing 
down  his  withered  cheeks.  Alarmed  for  him  now,  Zoe 
started  up  and  ran  to  him. 

"  What  is  it,  father  ? — dear  father,  what  is  it  ?" 

"  Oh,  Zoe,  ray  child,  my  baby — my  poor  baby  I  if  the 
Lord,  in  his  mercy,  would  take  him  to  himself  to-night  1" 

"What  is  the  matter,  dearest  father?"  exclaimed  Zje, 
pale  with  a  vague  terror. 

"  Alas,  Zoe,  how  much  money  have  we  got  F 

"  Enough  to  last  two  weeks  yet,  father— six  dollars." 

41  Six  dollars  I    My  Lord,  what  is  six  dollars,  Zoe  F" 

"Sir?" 

"  How  much  will  this  new  carpet  sell  for  F" 

"  Dear  father,  I  am  sure  I  do  not  know.  It  cost  almost 
nothing,  and  I  do  not  know  how  much  the  work  is  worth." 

"  We  must  sell  it,  Zoe  ;  we  mu-f,  sell  everything  that  wi 


168  THE     MOTHEB    IN-IiJLW. 

can ;  we  most  get  money.     And,"  broke  forth  the  old 
with  savage  energy,  "my  pupil*  1"  they  Khali  pay  mel 
hare  money  1" 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

BRIQHTT'a    CONQUEST. 

A  fcrow  ialf  aurtl&l  »nd  h»lf  diplomatic, 

JLA  «y«  up«*ring,  Ilk*  »n  e&gle'i  wing.— Ualbc*. 

IT  was  near  the  last  of  January  before  the  family  of  Mont 
Crystal  concluded  their  visit  to  the  Isle  of  Rays  and  returned 
home.  The  day  appointed  for  the  marriage  of  Mr.  Stuart- 
Gordon  and  Miss  Armstrong  drew  near. 

For  weeks  before  that  day  dawned,  the  gloomy  mistress 
ot  Mont  Crystal  had  been  preparing  for  it.  She  had  been 
almost  tempted,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  to  leave  her 
isolated  palace-home,  and  subject  herself  to  the  annoyance 
of  inconvenient  packet-boats,  ill-provided  hotels,  and  hired 
domestics,  and  go  to  New  York,  for  the  sake  of  ordering  a 
trousseau,  incomparable  for  richness  and  elegance.  Doubt- 
less she  would  have  done  so,  but  that  she  had  more  con- 
fidence in  Miss  O'Riley's  taste  in  such  matters  than  in  her 
own;  and,  remarking  coldly  to  her  daughter  that  ''ladies' 
maids  and  milliners,  and  such  people,  understood  the  mi- 
nutla  of  the  toilet  better  than  ladies  could  be  expected  to 
do,"  she  placed  Louise  in  charge  of  Miss  O'Rilcy,  and  dis- 
patched them  both  to  New  York,  under  the  escort  of  Ge- 
neral Stuart-Gordon,  who  was  traveling  to  the  North  with 
ao  better  excuse  than  that  of  ordering  new  furniture  for 
the  lilaiid  Maniiuu,  and  a  Bet  of  diamonds  for  its  futnrt 


Certainly,  tat  Arrogant  an~Tiptlon  of  Mrs.  Armitronf 


CONQUEST.  169 

jtrangely  deceived  her  when  she  sent  a  beautiful,  brilliant, 
and  fascinating  girl,  with  a  decided  taste  for  palaces  in  ge- 
neral, and  The  Isle  of  Rays  in  particular,  traveling  day  and 
night  through  a  fine  and  picturesque  country,  in  charge  of 
an  elderly  gentleman,  with  an  eye  for  beauty  and  a  soul  for 
poetry,  who  was  just  beginning  to  feel  the  solitude  of  hia 
own  suite  of  apartments. 

But  Mrs.  Armstrong  quietly  and  tacitly  assumed  that  no 
gentleman  of  her  circle  could  see  in  Miss  O'Riley  anything 
but  "  the  Governess ;"  or  rather,  to  speak  still  more  cor- 
rectly, Mrs.  Armstrong  never  thought  about  it  at  all.  She 
was  entirely  incapable  of  receiving  such  an  idea.  She  never 
saw  Brighty  as  she  really  was — a  sparkling,  dazzling,  be- 
wildering girl — radiating  beauty — fascinating  more  from 
the  soul  of  truth  and  goodness,  ever  burning  through  her 
face,,  than  for  any  regularity  of  features,  or  brilliancy  of 
complexion.  No,  she  never  realized  the  attractions  of 
Brighty.  She  saw  her  through  a  mist — the  cold,  frosty 
mist  of  pride.  Of  course  the  image  was  dimmed  to  her 
vision  ;  she  saw  "  only  the  Governess."  In  that  Mrs.  Arm- 
strong was  alone.  No  one  else  viewed  Miss  O'Riley 
through  a  disparaging  false  medium.  Mrs.  Armstrong  saw 
in  Britannia  nothing  but  the  dependent;  no  one  else  could 
see  the  dependent  at  all ;  they  could  only  see  the  native 
lady.  There  was  nothing  assumed,  affected,  or  forced 
about  Britannia.  Her  habitual  elegance  and  propriety  of 
costume,  dignity,  and  grace  of  manner,  and  brillianay  of 
conversation,  were  always  the  natural  and  truthful  mani- 
festations of  her  real  character.  Had  Britannia  crowned 
herself  with  rubies  and  diamonds,  you  must  have  felt,  by  all 
the  correspondence,  that  they  were  made  for  her.  General 
Stuart-Gordon  also  saw  Britannia  through  a  mist,  but  it 
was  a  brilliant  golden  mist  like  that  which  illuminated  the 
Isle  of  Rays  on  a  gorgeous  autumn  morning.  He  saw  her 
through  this  illusion,  for  he  could  not  sea  the  "  Governed 


170  TH«     MOTHKR-IN-LAW, 

at  all ;  but  then  he  had  never  seen  her  at  her  duties ;  bad 
only  met  her  in  the  drawing-room  of  Mont  Crystal,  or  at 
The  Isle  of  Rays,  where  she  impressed  him  only  as  a  very 
"  queenly"  women  ;  and  his  manner  toward  her  evinced  a 
respect  approaching  to  reverence.  And  this  Mrs.  Arm- 
strong, in  obtuse  arrogance,  mistook  for  a  haughty  reserve, 
or  a  more  hanghty  condescension  to  the  governess.  Britan- 
nia, on  her  part,  received  all  this  veneration  and  deference 
naturally,  as  a  matter  of  course — as  her  due  ;  and  without 
a  single  thought  as  to  its  reason  or  its  results. 

And  Louise — poor  little  Louise — had  a  dim  notion  that 
Brigbty  was  not  positively  hateful  to  her  future  father-in- 
law  ;  and  so,  in  her  little  faint  heart,  she  feebly  nursed  a 
timid  wish  to  persuade  her  governess  to  take  up  her  resi- 
dence, at  The  Isle  of  Rays,  as  her  companion.  As  yet, 
however,  Louise  durst  not  breathe  this  desire  to  any  one. 
In  fact,  the  poor,  oppressed  girl  had  never  been  known  to 
give  utterance  to  a  wish  of  any  sort  in  her  life. 

It  was  in  these  moods  of  mind  that,  upon  the  morning  of 
the  first  of  February,  the  three  travelers  set  out  in  General 
Stuart-Gordon's  carriage  for  the  village  of  Battletown, 
where  they  were  to  meet  the  Washington  stage. 

Two  days  of  stage-coach  traveling,  through  a  mountain- 
ous, then  a  hilly,  and  lastly  an  undulating  country,  brought 
them  to  Washington  city,  where  they  met  the  line  of  stages 
then  running  from  the  metropolis  to  New  Ycrk.  These 
were  not  tlie  days  of  railway  traveling,  and  so  it  was  quite 
n  week  from  the  time  they  set  out  from  Mont  Crystal  until 
they  reached  the  city  of  New  York.  Have  yon  ever  tra- 
yelled  two  or  three  days  in  a  stage-coach,  with  almost  the 
game  party  ?  Do  yon  know  how  mnch  more  sociable  it  is 
than  railway  traveling  ?  How  well  acquainted  people  be- 
come the  first  day — hov^  friendly  the  second — how  intimate 
the  third  ?  Thes  >  coaches  were  arranged  with  three  seats  for 
Bine  passengers.  General  Stuart-Gordon  always  ooeipitd 


a  EIGHTY'S   CONQUEST.  171 

the  back  seat,  between  bis  two  young  ladies.  Louise  wai 
timid,  reserved,  and  silent.  Britannia  had  to  sustain  the 
conversation.  Britannia  was  seldom  taciturn  or  out  of 
spirits ;  always  alive,  awake,  and  keenly  observant.  Espe- 
cially was  she  so  now,  in  passing  through  a  part  of  the 
country  very  picturesque,  and  entirely  new  to  her.  Not  a 
smile  of  sunlight  on  the  mountain-tops,  uoi  a  frown  of 
shadows  in  the  valleys,  not  the  singing  of  a  single  brooklet, 
not  the  laugh  of  a  single  waterfall,  or  the  roar  of  a  solitary 
torrent,  escaped  her  notice.  Nay,  to  her  poet-mind  and 
artist  eye,  the  very  loneliest  and  rudest  hut  upon  the  road- 
side, with  children's  little  red  flannel  petticoats  drying  on  ita 
struggling  fence,  was  picturesque  in  appearance,  and  inter- 
esting in  association — in  it  was  a  home — somebody's  home. 
General  Stuart-Gordon  first  heard,  and  lastly  listened  to 
her  talking ;  was  first  attracted,  then  amused,  and  finally 
deeply  interested  in  her  conversation.  There  was  contagion 
in  her  poetry ;  it  galvanized  into  new  life  all  the  long-for- 
gotten enthusiasm  of  his  youth.  I  lay  it  down  as  a  general 
rule,  subject  to  very  few,  if  any  exceptions,  that  when  love 
or  fever  attacks  an  elderly  gentleman,  it  makes  quicker  work 
with  him  than  with  a  younger  one.  The  reason  in  the  first 
rase  is  obvious ;  they  have  no  time  to  lose 

"In  wooing  ; 
IB  seeking  and  pursuing 
The  light  th*t  !!«• 
la  woman's  eyes." 

I  said,  th&t  at  the  commencement  of  the  week  of  travel 
there  was  contagion  in  Brighty's  romance  ;  at  the  end, 
there  was  joy  in  the  meeting  of  her  eye, — an  electric  shock 
in  the  contact  of  her  hand.  There  was  life,  vigor,  youth, 
buoyancy  in  being  jacked  into  that  back  seat  between 
Brighty  and  Louise  (although  little  Louise  was  no  more 
than  a  bandbox  or  a  bundle  in  the  account) ;  and  there 
was  a  relapse  into  despondency — ay,  reality — in  the  separa- 


172  THE     MOTHER    IN-LAW. 

tion ;  and  in  his  rebellious  heart  he  cursed  the  hoar  of 
evening  that  daily  brought  them  to  an  inn-door,  and  broke 
up  the  party  for  six  or  eight  hours.  For  his  part  he  pre- 
ferred to  ride  all  night ;  but  Britannia,  though  never  divin- 
ing his  motive  to  be  the  love  of  her  own  company,  would 
not  permit  Louise  to  become  fatigued.  In  this  state  o! 
progress  the  party  reached  New  York  city.  A  week  wai 
spent  among  jewelers,  milliners,  and  upholsterers  in  the 
mornings,  and  at  theatres,  operas,  and  concerts  in  the 
evenings.  This  was  all  very  new  and  delightful  to  both 
the  young  ladies — as  well  to  the  timid  Louise  as  to  the 
wittj  Britannia  ;  aad  for  General  Stuart-Gordon's  part,  he 
desired  nothing  better  than  to  attend  them  in  their  shop- 
ping expeditions  or  on  the  evenings'  amusements.  At  the 
end  of  the  week,  having  dispatched  all  their  purchases  by 
packet-boats  to  Alexandria,  to  be  conveyed  thence  to  their 
place  of  final  destination,  the  travelers  set  out  on  their  re- 
turn home.  It  was  now  that  the  attentions  of  General 
Stuart-Gordon  became  so  evident  and  pressing,  that  Bri- 
tannia communing  with  herself  one  night  at  an  inn,  where 
the  stage  stopped  to  sleep,  thought — 

"It  is  certain  that  I  have  been  in  very  high  spirits,  yes, 
and  high  beauty,  too,  ever  since  we  set  out  on  this  journey. 
I  know  I  have  been  excited  by  the  novelty  of  traveling,  the 
sublimity  of  the  scenery,  the  poetry  of  painting  and  the 
drama, — ay,  and  the  poetry  of  the  jeweler*'  shops,  tool  I 
know  that  I  have  been  enthusiastic,  inspired,  brilliant  some- 
times ;  and  I  know  that,  almost  isolated  here  with  General 
Stuart-Gordon — for  Louise  is  nobody — that  I  have,  with 
out  intending  it,  won  his  good  opinion.  Pshaw  1  I  will  be 
honest  with  myself,  and  not  affect  a  mock  honesty  to  my 
own  heart,  his  admiration.  I  know,  also,  without  a  doubt, 
that  I  admire  General  Stuart-Gordon,  /  do.  He  may  be 
more  than  doable  my  age,  bat  I  do.  He  is  a  good-looking 
old  man, — I  mean,  a  handsome  and  dignified  elderly  geati* 


»BI3HTY'S     CONQUEST.  178 

man,  with  a  magiificeut  air;  and  I  admire  his  splendid 
home  on  the  Isle  of  Rays,  with  its  gorgeous  furniture,  iti 
rare  and  costly  pictures  and  busts,  and  its  fine  old  library ; 
do  I  not  ?  And  I  should  be  well  pleased  to  become  the 
mistress  of  that  paradise ;  oh,  should  I  not  ?  Yes,  rerily, 
so  much,  that  I  began  to  distrust  the  sincerity  of  my  admi- 
ration for  its  master  ;  for  who  shall  know  their  own  hearts  f 
But  I  do  know,  also,  that  I  never  thought  to  win  the  admi- 
ration of  General  Stuart-Gordon ;  and  I  know,  also,  that 
though  a  gentleman  under  any  circumstances  at  all  very 
freely  forgives  a  woman  for  setting  her  cap  for  him,  and  is, 
upon  the  whole,  rathered  flattered  by  the  same,  yet  General 
Stuart-Gordon  must  not  be  permitted  to  suppose  that  Bri- 
tannia O'Riley  would  condescend  to  manoeuvre  for  the 
heart  and  hand  of  a  monarch.  No,  indeed ;  by  the  elastic 
pride  of  down-trodden  Ireland  and  the  O'Rileys,  never  ! 

"No;  much  as  I  admire  the  princely  General,  I  adore 
Britannia  O'Riley,  as  she  is  now,  more, — highly  as  I  prize 
the  Island  Estate,  I  prize  Britannia's  self-esteem  more  I  I 
should  lose  this  fine  swan-like  carve  of  the  neck  and  should- 
ers ;  this  strong  elastic  spring  of  the  instep  ;  this  free  stag- 
like  step;  this  natural  and  involuntary  feeling  of  royalty, 
if  I  could  cherish  a  mean  thought  or  do  a  mean  action  I 
Certainly  I  would  !  Therefore,  General  Stuart-Gordon,  if 
you  are  debating  with  yourself  upon  the  relative  policy  and 
propriety  of  sacrificing  your  inclination  or  marrying  the 
Governess,  leave  the  conflict  with  yourself;  be  at  ease — 
another  shall  decide  for  you.  Or  if,  General  Stuart-Gor- 
don, you  have  decided  to  lay  your  fortune  at  my  feet,  with 
many  thanks  for  honor  intended,  I  shall  decline  it.  The 
price  would  be  my  self-respect,  my  health,  my  beauty. 
And  yet  I  do  admire  that  regal  man  ;  I  should  be  proud 
of  him, — and  there  is  no  other  man,  I  know,  of  whom  I 
would  be  proud  1  Certainly  of  none  of  the  young  men  I 
we,  who  appear  tc  me  to  be  frivolous.  Heigh-ho  I  what 


174  THE     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

are  you  thinking  of,  Louise  ?"  she  asked,  suddenly  turning 
to  Miss  Armstrong  who  shared  her  chamber.  Louise  wa» 
sitting  in  her  white  wrapper  and  little  lace-frilled  nightcap, 
gazing  into  the  wood-fire,  at  which  she  was  warming  her 
feet  pievious  to  going  to  bed, — a  practice  that  her  mother 
had  taught  her  to  preserve  the  purity  and  delicacy  of  her 
complexion,  by  drawing  the  blood  from  her  head  and  face. 

"What  are  you  thinking  of,  Louise?" 

"  Of  my  mother,  Brighty.  She  has,  for  many  weeks  past, 
looked  so  very  gloomy,  so  severely ;  as  if  I  had  displeased 
her.  What  can  be  the  reason  ?" 

"  Yon  have  displeased  her,  Louise — unwillingly  dis- 
pleased her.  You  are  about  to  be  married — " 

"But  she  wishes  it,"  interrupted  Louise,  with  her  eyes 
wide  open. 

"My  dear,"  said  Brighty,  turning  suddenly  to  her,  "I 
remember  hearing  a  story  of  a  sect  of  Christians,  who  taking 
Bt.  Paul's  permission,  or  St.  Paul's  command,  'saluted each 
other  with  a  holy  kiss,'  which  was  all  very  well,  being  a  part 
of  their  worship.  But  one  day,  a  young  brother  was  expelled 
from  the  society  for  kissing  a  pretty  sister,  with  an  appetite. 
Mrs.  Armstrong  wishes  to  see  Miss  Armstrong  at  the  head 
of  a  splendid  establishment;  and  so  Louise  is  about  to  ex- 
change the  cold  and  haughty  affection  of  her  mother  for  the 
genial  love  of  her  youthful  husband  ;  and  so  Louise,  so  long 
iepressed,  feeble,  frozen,  apathetic,  almost  dead,  is  begin- 
aing  to  warm  into  a  little  life,  just  as  the  flower-roots  in  the 
frozen  ground  do  when  they  feel  the  first  life-giving  sun- 
warmth,  in  the  early  spring ;  and  Louise  betrays  this  in  her 
looks  and  manner,  and  her  mother  is  offended  by  it.  It 
mast  be  a  trial  to  any  mother,  Louise,  to  give  her  daughter 
in  marriage,  even  when  she  has  a  half  score  of  them  to  pro- 
ride  for,  or  establish  ;  even  when  she  has  strongest  reasons 
for  wishing  it,  and  the  most  disinterested  desire  for  her 
rhlld's  well  being.  Yes,  it  must  be  a  heart-trial  to  a  mother 


BRIGHTY'S   CONQUEST.  176 

to  see  her  life-long,  unselfish  devotion  superseded  by  another, 
a  newer,  and  often  a  more  selfish  affection.  To  marry  off 
her  daughters,  is  a  necessity,  but  it  is  a  cruel  necessity, 
under  the  present  domestic  arrangements  of  families,  that 
separates  parents  and  children  at  the  marriage  altar,  sepa- 
rating them,  sometimes,  for  thousands  of  miles,  and  some- 
times without  the  possibility  of  meeting  again  ;  thus,  inter- 
cepting by  the  dark  cloud  of  parting,  the  sunlight  of  joy 
that  should  fall  upon  the  head  of  the  bride.  It  seems  to 
me  there  might  be  some  remedy  for  this  evil ;  it  seems  to 
me  that  the  brightness  of  the  bride's  morning  should  not 
thus  be  overcast — the  evening  of  her  parent's  age  not  thus 
left  desolate.  There  are  seldom  more  than  three  genera- 
tions on  earth  at  the  same  time,  and  it  seems  to  me  that 
houses  might  be  built  large  enough  to  accommodate  three 
generations.  And  how  united  a  family  would  be,  then  I 
What  permanency,  what  security,  what  peace  it  would  give 
them — the  certainty  that  they  need  never  be  separated  on 
earth." 

"  But  Brighty,  suppose  that  when  a  pair  were  married, 
he  parents  on  both  sides  should  dispute  as  to  who  should 
keep  the  young  couple  ?" 

"  They  should,  in  most  cases,  reside  with  the  parents  of 
the  bride,  for  several  reasons." 

"  For  what  reasons,  then,  Brighty  ?" 

"Parents  love  their  sous  with  more  pride,  more  enthusi- 
asm ;  but  this  does  not  make  a  parting  with  them  very 
painful,  when  they  send  them  to  a  happy  destiny.  But  they 
love  their  daughters  with  tenderness,  and  suffer  very  much 
in  dismissing  them/rom  their  fostering  bosoms,  under  the 
happiest  circumstances.  They  know  that  marriage  changes 
the  whole  phase  of  a  woman's  life — that  it  is  a  much  more 
lerious  thing  to  a  woman  than  to  a  husband.  She  i» , 
physically,  the  weaker  party,  and  in  every  conflict,  « 
,  is  most  likely  to  be  the  greatest  sufferer.  Be*ide 


176  THX     MOTHIR-IN-LAW. 

a  young  wife,  amid  the  toils  and  cares  of  a  new  maternity, 
ever  needs  the  experience,  advice,  assistance,  and  sympathy 
of  her  own  mother.  And  lastly,  there  is  Scripture  for  it" 

"  Scripture  for  it  F" 

"  Yes ;  from  the  first  of  Genesis  to  the  last  of  Revela- 
tions, it  is  nowhere  commanded  that  a  woman  shall  leave 
her  parents  ;  but  it  is  very  frequently  written  and  re-written, 
that  a  man  shall  leave  father  and  mother,  and  cleave  to  hi§ 
wife ;  and  the  reason  and  justice  of  this  is  obvious  from 
what  I  have  just  said.  I  have  often  thought — as  I  think 
all  sorts  of  things — that  if  I  had  a  little  daughter,  the  more 
I  loved  her,  the  more  I  should  suffer  in  the  thought  of  the 
approaching  age  when  she  should  be  taken  from  me  ;  and  I 
sympathize  with  all  mothers,  even  with  Mrs.  Armstrong, 
who  would  consider  it  unnecessary,  or  insulting — for  you 
are  her  only  child,  Louise,  and  she,  perhaps,  is  not  the  moat 
disinterested  iu  her  affection  for  you,  and  therefore  is  more 
jealous,  exacting,  unhappy,  in  her  love — wanting  the  con- 
volution that  seeing  you  happy  might  give  her.  But  you 
are  weeping,  Louise  1  Do  not  weep,  Louise ;"  and  the 
kind  girl,  regretting  that  in  her  love  of  talk  she  had 
wounded  the  daughter's  heart,  left  her  night  toilet  half  com- 
pleted, and  went  to  caress  and  console  her. 

Presently  she  inquired,  with  a  view  of  changing  the  sub- 
ject, and  suggesting  a  more  agreeable  train  of  thought — 

"Do  you  love  Louis,  Louise?" 

'•  Certainly  I  do,"  replied  Louise,  wiping  her  eyes. 

"I  do  not  believe  it,  you  little  child ;  you  say  it  so  com- 
posedly. Young  ladies  ought  to  blush  when  such  a  ques- 
tion is  asked  them." 

"  For  what  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,  but  I  know  that  you  committed  a  breach 
of  etiquette,  when  you  omitted  to  be  covered  with  confusion 
at  my  abrupt  question.  Therefore,  I  do  not  believe  you 


BRIGHTY'S   COVQUBSI.  177 

love  Louis  according  to  established  rules.  Say—  which  do 
you  love  most — me  or  Louis  ?" 

"  Louis — but  I  love  you,  too,"  hastily  added  the  gentle 
girl,  taking  the  hand  of  her  governess. 

"  Louis — or  your  mother  ?" 

"  Oh,  my  mother  1" 

"  I  thought  so  I  Unlucky  Louise,"  said  Brighty  to  her 
•elf.  "  The  only  reason,  then,  why  you  are  miserable  witb 
your  mother,  and  happy  with  Louis,  is  because  the  forme; 
is  selfish,  proud,  jealous,  and  exacting  in  her  affection,  a&d 
the  latter  is  noble  and  disinterested.  Because  Mrs.  Arm- 
strong constantly  suppresses  the  manifestation  of  her  ma- 
ternal love,  while  Louis  freely  expresses  his  generous  affec- 
tion." 

"  But,  Brighty,  what  do  you  know  about  love  ?"  timidly 
inquired  Miss  Armstrong. 

"  Nothing,  experimentally,  Louise  !  Nothing,  at  least, 
of  such  love  as  exists,  or  is  presumed  to  exist,  between  a 
bevrothec  couple.  I  have  a  sort  of  protecting  affection  for 
you,  and  a  sisterly  regard  for  Susan  Somerville  and  Zoe 
Dove.  That  is  the  growth  of  time,  association,  and  esteem ; 
but  for  any  other  love — for  the  love  that  poets  rave  about 
— I  know  nothing  of  it,  and  I  am  twenty-five  years  old.  1 
never  wish  to  marry,  except  to  attain  my  proper  elevation 
in  society,  and  to  escape  the  unjust  reproaches  vented  upon 
old  maids." 

"  You  would  make  a  good  nun,  Brighty  " 

"  Certainly  !  that  would  be  a  way  of  solving  the  problem. 
I  might  thereby  attain  a  handsome  establishment,  and  escape 
the  odium  of  old  maidenhood — winning  the  glory  of  self- 
•acrifhe,  instead.  Yes,  Louise,  I  think  I  might  be  per- 
inaied  to  take  the  veil ;  I  should  make  a  very  good  nnn, 
provided  they  would  elect  me  Abbess,  and  set  me  at  the 
heal  of  a  magnificent  Abbey — always  providing  that  the 
Abber  ihould  be  magnilcent— the  dresi  of  tke  Abbey  dig . 


178  THE     MOTHEB-IN-LAW. 

rifled  and  becoming,  and  the  ritud  of  the  sisterhood  subHmt 
I  will  think  of  it,  Louise  " 

Thus  Britannia  rattled  on,  to  restore  the  cheerfulness  of 
her  pupil.  Louise  went  to  draw  the  window  curtains,  tc 
snut  out  the  full  moonbeams  that  were  flooding  the  chamber 
with  silver  light. 

"  Does  the  moonlight  disturb  your  s^ep,  Louise  ?" 

"  Oli,  no — never." 

"Ihen  do  not  shut  it  out,  love;  it  is  churlish  to  shut  it 
•jut.  I  like,  when  lying  awake,  to  gaze  through  the  window 
at  that  glorious  world  floating  free  in  space.  And  some- 
times it  seems  to  me  a  bright  spirit,  smiling  a  blessing  in 
upOii  n.e."  Louise  left  the  blinds  open  and  the  curtains  up, 
and  the  two  girls  retired  to  bed.  They  occupied  the  same 
couch.  Neither  fell  asleep.  Britannia's  thoughts  had 
reverted  to  the  "  to  be,  or  not  to  be."  of  her  own  possibly 
brilliant  destiny,  and  Louise  was  thinking  of  her  mother. 
At  last,  at  the  end  of  half  an  hour,  she  said — 

"  Brighty,  are  you  awake  ?" 

"  Yes,  my  child." 

"  Brighty,  I  am  troubled  about  mj  dearest  mother.  How 
do  you  know  that  she  is  gloomy  about  my  marriage  ?" 

"  Louise,  I  was  wrong  to  say  anything  to  you  upon  the 
subject.  My  besetting  sin  is  conversation  ;  if  I  could  not 
converse,  I  should  have  to  scribble,  and  that  would  ink  my 
fingers — think  of  something  else,  my  dear." 

"  But,  Brighty,  yon  who  are  so  young,  and  who  have 
been  without  family  ties  of  any  sort,  from  your  earliest 
infancy  up,  how  is  it  that  you  can  enter  so  deeply  into  the 
emotions  of  a  mother  parting  with  her  daughter,  a  daughter 
leaving  her  mother;  the  relative  and  comparative  nature 
of  parents'  love  for  their  sons  and  their  daughters — yon,  who 
were  never  a  mother,  and,  I  was  go'ng  to  say,  never  • 
davght-tr  T' 


BBIGFTY'S  CONQUEST.     17t 

"Ton  might  \ave  said  it.  I  do  not  remember  my 
parents." 

"Bat  how  GO  you  know  a  parent's  hesrt,  then  1" 

"  In  a  small  way,  as  Shakspeare  knew  a  ironnreh's  heart, 
a  villain's  heart,  a  woman's  heart — he  who  was  neither  a 
king,  rascal,  nor  woman — by  INTUITION.  You  do  not  know 
what  the  idea  is  that  that  very  « r-  hinon  word  protends  to 
present.  The  lexicons  define  it  by  synonyms,  without  ex- 
plaining it.  Instinctive  krowiedge — inspired  knowledge 
— what  is  it  ?  whence  conies  it,  then,  Louise  ?  It  may  be 
the  answer,  the  sum  total,  of  past  expediences — the  expe- 
rience* without  the  memory  of  a  pre- existence.  Inspiration, 
Genius — what  are  they,  Louise  I  They  may  be  condensed; 
the  precipitated  wisdom  of  a  iong  chain  of  many  links  of 
past  lives.  We  sink  into  a  reverie,  we  catch  the  gleam  of 
a  new  ray  of  light,  or  the  tons  of  a  new  prophetic  voice  ;  we 
seek  it,  pursue  it  eager'.y,  to  lose  sight  and  sound  of  it  away 
down  in  the  caves  of  our  inner  life,  whither  it  has  withdrawn. 
We  watch,  and  wait,  and  listen,  foi  the  voice  within  to 
speak — for  the  light  within  to  shine-— in  vair  !  It  has  died 
away  in  silence — died  away  in  darkness — until  some  unex- 
pected sight  or  sound,  some  merest  trifle — the  shadow  of  a 
cloud  upon  the  hills,  a  cadence  in  the  laughter  of  a  child- 
brings  back  the  ray  in  a  flood  of  glor'ous  light — brings  back 
the  voice  in  a  diapason  of  sublime  harmony  We  call  it 
inspiration — genius  1  May  it  not  be  poetical  memory , 
rather — the  recovery  of  lost  knowledge  and  wisdom — with- 
out the  recollection  of  its  acquirement  ?"  marmured  Brighty, 
half  awake,  half  asleep,  sinking  dreamily  into  unconscious- 
ness. 

"  It  is  the  moon ;  yea,  of  course,  it  is  the  full  moon, 
falling  on  Brighty's  head,  that  it  keeps  her  awake  and 
makes  her  fanciful,"  said  Louise,  stepping  out  of  bed  and 
eloiing  the  blinds.  Then  returning  to  her  coucl\  she 
changed  her  pillov  and  fell  asleep. 


190  THE     MOTHIK-IK-LAW. 

The  stage  left  the  next  morning,  after  an  early  breakfast 
Brighty,  on  re-entering  the  coach  with  Louise  and  General 
Stuart-Gordon,  began  to  put  in  practice  her  resolution  of 
distant  reserve.  She  was  perfectly  sincere  in  her  intention 
to  persevere  in  gently  repulsing  the  General's  advances ; 
yet  the  most  skillful  coquetry  could  not  have  devised  a 
better  plan  for  bringing  matters  to  a  crisis. 

The  end  of  this  day's  journey  brought  the  travelers  to 
Baltimore.  Here  they  designed  remaining  one  day,  for  the 
purpose  of  seeing  something  of  the  city,  and  of  making  a 
few  more  purchases.  They  spent  the  day  in  talking  or 
riding  through  the  city,  and  returned  to  their  hotel  at  night 
BO  fatigued,  that  the  ladies  retired  to  their  apartment  very 
early  in  the  evening. 

On  reaching  their  room,  Br'ghty  observed  on  the  toilet- 
table  a  small  packet,  addressed  to  herself,  having  the  card 
of  General  Stuart-Gordou  attached  to  it  She  opened  the 
packet,  and  found  a  casket ;  she  raised  the  lid,  and  a  beau- 
tiful set  of  jewels  flashed  into  her  eyes  !  First  an  exclama- 
tion of  admiration  and  delight  escaped  her  lips,  as  she  held 
them  nearer  the  light,  to  examine  their  brilliancy ;  but  in 
the  next  instant  she  fell  into  gravity—  raised  the  card  and 
looked  at  it — then  glanced  at  Louise,  who  was  undressing 
in  a  distant  part  of  the  room  and  q-iite  unconscious  of  the 
treasures  on  the  dressing-table — ihjn  she  looked  again  in 
admiration  on  the  jewels.  They  consisted  of  ear-rings, 
breastpin,  necklace,  and  bracelet,  of  fine  topazes.  Lastly, 
•he  closed  the  casket,  wrapped  it  tgain  in  its  envelope,  tied 
it  securely,  and  taking  writing  materials  from  her  trunk, 
stood  there,  and  penned  the  following  characteristic  note : — 

"Britannia  O'Riley  offers  her  eer']e;t  and  most  respect- 
ful esteem  to  General  Ptuart-Gordon,  and  solicits  his  per- 
mission to  return  the  accompanying  casket,  »-ith  de«p  gra- 
titude, and  with  thli  ejplacation : 


BKIGHTY    8     CONQUEST.  181 

"Britannia  O'Riley's  circumstances,  by  denying  her  the 
privilege  of  making  aostly  presents,  deprire  her  of  the  plta- 
Bnre  of  receiving  them." 

When  she  had  folded,  sealed,  and  directed  this  note,  she 
attached  it  to  the  top  of  the  packet  by  slipping  it  in  between 
the  cords  and  the  envelope,  and  rang  the  bell.  A  chamber- 
maid answered  it. 

"  Do  you  know  the  number  of  the  room  occupied  by  the 
gentleman  who  accompanied  us  hither?" 

"Yes,  Miss;  it  is  number  twenty-six — the  next  room 
but  one." 

"  Has  he  retired  yet  ?" 

"  No,  Miss  ;  I  have  just  seen  him  enter  the  reading-room. 

"  Then,  if  his  door  is  open,  take  this  packet  and  leave  it 
on  his  dressing-table,  and  return  and  let  me  know  when  you 
have  done  so,"  said  Britannia,  handing  the  casket. 

The  girl  took  it  and  went,  and  in  two  minutes  returned 
to  report  her  errand  accomplished. 

"  What  was  that,  Brighty  ?"  inquired  Louise,  as  the  girl 
left  the  room. 

"  Oh,  only  a  purchase  of  the  General's,  left  upon  our  toi- 
let table."  And  the  girls  retired  to  rest. 

Early  the  next  morning,  and  as  soon  as  he  had  ascertained 
that  the  young  ladies  had  arisen  and  dressed,  General  Stu- 
art-Gordon rapped  at  their  door,  and,  upon  its  being 
opened,  offered  his  arms  to  the  girls  with  an  air  of  sad  cere- 
mony, to  conduct  them  down  to  breakfast. 

The  passage  of  breakfast  was  rather  amusing,  could  the 
spectator  have  been  in  the  secret.  The  General  was  very 
grave,  ate  but  little,  and  heaved  great  sighs  as  he  buttered 
hia  bread.  At  the  end  of  breakfast,  both  the  young  ladies 
arose  to  return  to  their  room,  and  get  ready  to  resume  their 
journey.  But  General  Stuart-Gordon  stepped  after  them 
and  arrested  their  further  progress  by  taking  the  hand  of 
11 


182  THE     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

Britannia,  and  inquiring  in  a  low  but  assured  tone  if  Misi 
O'Riley  would  grant  him  the  favor  of  an  interview.  Bri- 
tannia bowed  her  head  in  assent,  and  suffered  herself  to  be 
conducted  to  the  ladies'  parlor,  then  vacant,  and  led  with 
great  deference  to  a  seat. 

General  Stuart-Gordon,  standing  respectfully  before  her, 
•aid— 

"Miss  O'Riley,  you  have  humbled  me." 

"I  am  very  unhappy  in  having  undesignedly  offended 
you,  sir,"  said  Brighty. 

"I  said  that  you  had  humbled  me,  Miss  O'Riley." 

"The  terra  is  inadmissible,  applied  to  General  Stuart- 
Gordon.  I  would  not  hear  my  best  friend  use  it  in  connec- 
tion with  your  honored  name." 

"  Miss  O'Riley,  I  am  humbled ;  you  will  restore  my 
self-respect  by  the  acceptance  of  the  small  offering  laid 
upon  your  shrine." 

"  General  Stuart-Gordon,  you  will  pardon  me,  and  per- 
mit me  to  adhere  to  a  rule  that  circumstances  make  U 
necessary  for  my  self-respect  that  I  should  observe." 

"  Then  it  seems  to  be  a  question  of  pride  between  us." 

"  Of  propriety." 

"  Miss  O'Riley,  you  are  proud." 

"  Perhaps  so,  sometimes,  and  with  some  people." 

"Arrogant." 

"Never." 

"  Disprove  the  charge,  then,  by  receiving  from  a  friend  • 
bauble,  that  any  other  young  lady,  under  the  same  cirsum 
glances,  would  accept  without  hesitation." 

"  But  I  ?m  not  '  any  other  young  lady,'  "  replied  Britan- 
nia, rising,  and  drawing  up  her  slight,  elastic  figure. 

"  I  said  that  you  were  arrogant,  and  so  you  are." 

"  Yon  misapprehend  me,  sir.  I  humbly  thank  yon  for  all 
and  sundry  your  benevolent  wishes  and  intentions  toward 
mt, '  uid  Brighty. 


BRIGHT  Y' 8     CONQUEST.  185 

"Miss  O'Riley,"  questioned  General  Stuart-Gordon,  after 
a  pause,  "  what  disposition  shall  I  make  of  this  casket  ?" 

"Your  own  discretion  will  direct  you  aright,  General 
Stuart-Gordon.  It  would  be  great  presumption  in  me  to 
suggest  their  proper  destination." 

"The  boudoir  of  the  future  Mrs.  Stuart-Gordon — " 

"Would  be  a  very  fitting  disposal  of  them." 

"I  perfectly  agree  with  you.  Ani  I  lay  them  at  the  feet 
of  the  future  Mrs.  Stuart-Gordon,  if  Miss  O'Rilcy  will 
honor  the  ancient  name  by  accepting  it,  with  the  devotion 
of  its  oldest  representative,"  exclaimed  the  General,  suiting 
the  action  to  the  word,  by  gallantly  dropping  on  one  knee, 
and  depositing  the  casket  at  the  feet  of  Britannia. 

(Don't  laugh,  or  rather  do  if  you  like;  but  this  was 
something  like  the  style  of  wooing  i*  our  grandmother's 
days — the  days  of  hoops  and  high-heele  shoes — of  damask 
and  brocades — of  high  head-dresses — stately,  minuet  walks 
— elaborate  double  curtsies,  first  to  the.  /ght  and  then  to 
the  left — of  gallant  toasts,  and  set  spe-^hec — when  Lord 
Chesterfield's  letters,  Sir  Charles  Grandison  &c.,  formed 
the  light  literature  of  the  day.  Yes  1  this  was  ihe  style  of 
courtship  in  favor  with  gentlemen  of  the  old  school,  especi- 
ally where  the  gentlemen  were  old  themsslvei,  and  somswhat 
stiff  and  proud.  Many  a  reported  courtship  of  the  olden 
time  have  I  heard  from  the  lips  of  my  grandmother  and 
grand-aunts.  It  may  be  that  these  stately  airs  were  assumed 
only  by  the  descendants  of  the  cavalier  settlers,  the  citizens 
of  aristocratic  Maryland  and  Yirginia.  It  may  be  that  the 
republican  children  of  the  Puritans  never  affected  such.) 

But  while  I  have  been  talking  with  you,  Britannia  has 
been  standing  there  with  her  eyes  cast  upon  the  ground, 
with  hand  clasped  in  that  of  General  Stuart- Gordon,  re- 
ceiving his  declaration. 

At  its  close,  she  gravely  withdrew  her  hand,  and,  saying 
calmly,  "General  Stuart-Gordon  amuses  himself  at  mj 


184  THE     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

expense/'  curtsied,  and  was  passing  from  the  room,  when 
he  stepped  quickly  uftcr  her,  and,  taking  her  hand,  said — 

"  Miss  O'P-iley,  I  admire  you  1  I  would  say,  Britannia, 
I  love  thee,  but  that  your  lip  might  curl  to  hear  such  a 
declaration  from  a  man  of  my  years.  But,  Britannia,  I  do 
very  earnestly  respect  you,  very  highly  esteem  you — my 
happiness  is  dependent  upon  your  society.  I  wish  to  make 
you  my  wife,  the  mistress  of  my  house,  the  companion  of 
my  domestic  life,  the  partner  of  my  social  and  solitary 
hours.  Britannia,  do  yor.  think  that  a  woman  could  be 
happy  as  the  wife  of  a  iran  many  years  her  senior  ?" 

There  was  a  deep-toned  sadness  in  his  voice  as  he  asked 
the  question,  ihat  appe.-  .  to  Brighty's  sympathies.  She 
answered  him  gentlv  - 

"Oh  !  yes  I  I  thin  so — when  all  other  circumstances  are 
tn  harmony — " 

"Could  you  be  nappy  thus  situated,  Britannia?" 

".could." 

"  Then  T  av  Ao  understand  that  you  entertain  my  suit, 
Brighty  ?" 

Again  Britannia  gravely  withdrew  her  hand,  and  replied, 
earnest j — 

"  General  Stua.",- 3fordon,  I  feel  very  highly  honored,  and 
Tery  deeply  grateful  for  your  preference.  But  permit  me  to 
hope  for  your  happiness  in  a  union  with  some  other  lady 
more  worthy  the  distinction  of  your  high  alliance." 

"  '  Some  other  lady  ?'  Alas  ?  Britannia,  thirty  years  ago 
«uch  a  transfer  might  have  been  possible — such  a  transfer 
teas  possible — was  made!  But  when  men  of  my  age  form 
an  attachment,  it  is  their  laf-t,  their  last.  There  is  no  more 
hope  in  life  !  It  is  the  very  latest  autumn  flowering  of  the 
ieart.  There  is  no  more  blooming  in  the  winter !" 

"Permit  me  to  retire,  General,"  said  Britannia,  respect- 
fnJly. 

"Go,   Brtannia,"    said    he,  sadly.     And    she    curtsied 


•  EIGHTY'S    CONQUEST.  186 

and  left  the  parlor.  "Go,  Brighty,"  murmured  the  sexa« 
genarian  lover,  more  maudlin,  sentimental,  desolate,  heart- 
broken, than  a  boy  of  eighteen  in  his  first  love  trrablei. 
"  Go,  Brighty — 

"  '  Go,  thon  vision  !  brightly  gleaming, 

Softly  on  my  son!  that  fell- 
Go  !  for  me  no  longer  beaming — 
Hope  and  beauty,  fare  thee  well.'  " 

As  his  biographer,  I  arr  ashamed  of  General  Henry  Cart- 
wright  Stuart-Gordon,  U.  S.  A.,  just  at  this  crisis  1  I  am 
mortified  that  he  should  thus  abandon  his  dignity,  even 

when  solitary  in  the  parlor  of  the Hotel.  And  I  think 

it  was  well  that,  before  he  grew  any  worse  or  got  any 
further,  the  shrill  blast  of  the  matter-of-fact  and  peremptory 
stage-horn  broke  in  upon  his  music  and  his  poetry,  hia 
passion  and  his  foolery,  and  called  him  from  his  ramble  in 
the  meandering  paths  of  fancy,  to  the  rough  turnpike  jour- 
ney of  real  life. 

In  half  an  hour,  the  travelers  were  once  more  on  tha 
road,  and  in  three  more  days  they  had  reached  Mont  Crys- 
tal in  safety, 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE   BRIDAL. 

Bring  flower*,  fresh  flowers  for  the  bride  to  wear  I 
They  are  born  to  blush  In  her  shining  hair, 
She  Is  learing  the  home  of  her  childhood'*  mirth, 
She  h»th  bid  farewell  t-  u«r  father's  hearth, 
Her  place,  Is  now  by  auutner's  side- 
Bring  flowers  for  the  brow  of  the  fair  young  bride  —Hemarti 

BUT  there  were  no  flowers  in  bloom  on  the  wedding-day 
of  our  bride.  The  pale  brow  of  Louise  was  indeed  crowned 
with  white  roses,  but  they  were  lifeless,  scentless,  artificial 
. — lifeless  as  the  chilled  heart  of  the  bride — false  as  the  cour- 
tesy of  her  mother — artificial  as  the  forced  smile  with  which 
Susan  Soraerville  accepted  her  post  as  bridesmaid  to  the 
youngest,  fairest,  and  wealthiest  bride  that  had  appeared  in 
the  country  for  the  last  qnarter  of  a  century — or  since  the 
marriage  of  Margaret  Stuart-Gordon,  the  sole  heiress  of  the 
Island  Estate,  the  almost  fabulous  splendor  of  whose  bridal 
is  still  a  tradition  of  glory  in  the  neighborhood,  and  which 
it  was  Mrs.  Armstrong's  ambition  to  supersede  and  eclipse 
with  superior  magnificence.  Having  but  one  daughter  to 
marry  off — one  who  was  about  to  be  wedded  to  the  most 
wealthy  man  in  the  State — and  having  ample  means,  Mrs. 
Armstrong  felt  the  propriety  of  sparing  no  expense ;  and 
the  spared  none.  Everything  that  ingenuity  could  invent, 
taste  devise,  luxury  desire,  or  money  purchase,  was  procured 
—everything  but  "fresh  flowers  for  the  bride  to  wear." 
There  were  no  flowers  alive  on  the  day  of  Louise  Arm- 
strong's marriage.  The  roses  had  been  dead  for  months— 


THE     BRIDAL.  18? 

the  rose-bushes,  stripped  of  their  leaves,  stuck  up,  stiff  and 
stark,  as  skeletons  from  the  ground.  Even  tne  lilies  and 
the  tulips  were  long  ago  in  their  graves. 

And  what  a  day  it  teas/  that  22d  of  February,  18 — ! 

"  The  Devil  is  doing  all  he  can  to  dramatize  the  four  ele- 
ments !"  swore  Brutus  Lion,  who  at  four  o'clock  in  the 
morning  had  jumped  out  of  bed,  with  a  bound  that  shook 
the  house — yes,  and  the  rocks  on  which  the  house  was 
founded,  too — and  had  dashed  open  the  window  blinds  with 
a  blow  of  his  fist,  to  look  out  upon  the  weather. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?"  shouted  his  sister  from  the  next 
room. 

"  Matter  !  matter  1"  growled  Brutus ;  "  no  hunting  again 
to-day,  Ger  !  What  will  we  do  with  ourselves,  you  and  I  ?" 

"  Start  a  stag  !  I  don't  mind  the  weather !  Ha  I  ha  1 
you  are  growing  effeminate,  Brutus  !"  and  Gertrude  with  a 
shout  of  laughter,  broke  into  the  room  while  Brutus  was 
drawing  on  his  coat.  "I  should  like  to  seethe  weather 
that  would  keep  me  in  aoors.  /  shall  hunt/"  said  the 
giantess,  shaking  'oose  her  cataract  of  rolling  yellow  hair. 

"  Hunt  what,  on  such  a  devil  of  a  day  !  Satan  would  not 
hunt  a  soul  to-day  !" 

"  /  shall,  nevertheless.  Let  the  weather  do  its  worst. 
Lord  !  Brutus,  I  defy  the  elements !  Let  them  rage !  I 
glory  in  defying  them  !  I  glory  in  the  sublime  strength  that 
enables  me  to  defy  them.  See  here,  Brutus  I" 

And  going  to  the  window,  she  threw  it  up,  and,  baring 
her  neck  and  bosom  to  the  sharp  and  driving  sleet,  stood 
there,  while  her  large,  fierce,  light-blue  Saxon  eyes  danced 
with  a  jubilant  exultation. 

Oh,  shut  it  d^wn  i  come  away  !"  impatiently  exclaimed 
Brutus. 

Gsrtrnde  laughed,  and  folding  her  blue  cloth  pelisse  ovef 
her  bosom,  stiU  full  of  sleet,  exclaimed— 


188  THE     MOTH1B-IN-LAW. 

"  And  now  you  expect  me  to  get  a  wheezing,  don't  yoi  1 
Pooh  1  aa  soon  expect  the  wild  reindeer  of  the  Arctic 
regions  to  catch  a  cold !  No  !  It  is  only  your  domestic 
animals — brut^  md  human — that  take  cold  from  exposure 
to  the  elements  1  Oh  1  Brutus,  Low  you  and  I  have  divided 
the  inheritance  of  our  fathers.  You,  with  the  strongly- 
marked  North  American  Indian  features  and  complexion, 
have  inherited  the  habits  of  an  English  fox-hunting  squire. 
I,  with  the  form,  features,  and  complexion  of  the  Anglo- 
Saxons  and  the  Danes,  have  all  the  great  hardihood  of  un- 
tamed Indian  nature  I  Nothing  affects  me  but  confinement. 
Oh  1  Brutus,  I  never  was  sick  1  I  never  shall  be  sick  !  I 
defy  all  the  Influences  of  earth  to  make  me  sick  I  I  could 
sleep  all  night  in  the  open  air  in  such  weather  as  this,  and 
never  freeze  nor  get  sick !  Oh  I  Brutus,  1  can  scarcely  be- 
lieve that  I  can  die! — 'ina-  thh  firm,  white  flesh  of  mine 
shall  ever  perish  i  Y  ;t  I  know  that  some  time  after  I  have 
passed  my  hundredth  year  that  tbis  body  will  begin  to  wear 
out,  and  dry  away,  and  fall  off  :r?m  me,  and  then  I  suppose 
I  shall  ride  a  winged  steed  and  hunt  through  the  regions 
of  air.  I  wonder  if  there  is  any  hunting  in  the  other  world, 
Brutus  7  I  swear  to  you,  Brutus,  that  heaven  would  not  be 
heaven  to  me  without  it  1  The  '  happy  hunting  grounds'  of 
our  Indian  fathers  1  That  is  my  idea  of  heaven  1" 

And  in  truth  it  must  be  confessed  that  the  Gerfalcon's 
prospect  for  any  other  seemed  very  small. 

'•'  SHUT  DOWN  THAT  WINDOW  !  will  you  ?"  roared  Brutus 
again.  "  Don't  let  the  room  be  filling  with  sleet  and  snow 
while  you  talk !  God  help  you  I  I  mean  the  man  that  gets 
you  for  a  wife  ! — only  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  no  man  will  be 
donkey  enough  to  try  !" 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha  I  I  am  pretty  independent  of  your  lord- 
ships !"  laughed  the  ;old  and  savage  beauty ;  "  twrj  inde- 
pendent 1" 


THE     BRIDAL  189 

"  And  very  detestable  for  being  so  independent  1  What 
ihould  make  you  so  independent  ?" 

"That  is  a  jibe !  but  I  will  answer  you.  This  should 
make  me  independent — or  healthful,  cheerful,  and  free, 
which  is  the  same  thing — I  live  by  the  laws  of  nature." 

"  Of  savage  nature  1" 

"Of  nature!  Clothes  were  made  to  cover,  not  to  fetter 
people,  and  I  wear  mine  lightly  and  easily.  Houses  were 
made  to  shelter,  not  to  suffocate  people,  and  I  stay  in  ours 
only  to  eat  and  sleep  in  tempestuous  weather ;  in  a  word, 
only  when  I  cannot  enjoy  my  life  more  out  doors  Food 
was  made  to  nourish  and  sustain,  not  to  enervate  and  disease 
people.  Therefore,  I  live  upon  apples,  nuts,  turnips,  and 
dried  fruits — all  those  fresh,  sweet  products  of  the  earth, 
fchat,  having  in  them  the  elements  of  life  and  health,  will 
keep  almost  for  ever — and  not  upon  cooked  victuals,  that, 
having  the  principles  of  decay  within  themselves,  spoil  in 
a  day  or  two,  or  upon  your  more  horrid  and  disgusting 
animal  food.  A  food — pah  I — which,  as  soon  as  life  is 
gone,  falls  into  rapid  dissolution.  I  live  upon  fresh  living 
roots  and  fruits,  and  receive  their  life  into  my  veins.  Ah  1 
believe  me,  I  shall  live  a  hundred  years,  in  spite  of  the 
necessarily  defective  physical  organization  inherited  from 
meat-eating  ancestors.  And  believe  me,  that  the  reason 
why  the  antediluvians  lived  so  long  was,  that  they  lived 
upot  the  living  vegetable  productions  of  the  earth — not 
upon  the  dead,  and  disguised  cooked  food,  and  the  horrid 
animal  food.  And  believe  me,  that  the  Biblical  account  of 
the  original  sin,  and  the  heathen  fable  of  Prometheus'  theft, 
referred  to  the  same  epoch  in  the  world's  history,  namely, 
the  time  when  the  curiosity  or  the  luxury  of  man  tried  ani- 
mal food,  and  fire,  the  fierce  element,  was  captured  and 
debased  to  culinary  purposes,  just  to  disguise  the  cannibal 
aieal  of  meat,  and  then  to  change,  cook,  and  kill  the  living 
fruits  that  were  to  have  Heeu  the  healthful  and  life-giving 


190  TMl     MOTHER- Ilf-LAW. 

food  of  men.  And  what  have  been  the  results?  The 
human  race  has  become  luxurious,  sensual,  debased,  and, 
even  amidst  the  advance  of  civilization,  has  declined  in 
•ite,  in  health,  in  strength,  and  in  length  of  life  !  Instead 
of  living  nine  hundred  years,  men  do  not  live  ninety. 
Water  was  made  to  drink,  and  to  bathe  in,  and  not  to  steep 
tea  and  coffee  in,  or  to  dilute  wine  and  brandy  with  ;  and  I 
bathe  in  water  like  a  duck,  and  drink  water,  which  is  alive 
aa  the  fruits  are,  and  not  your  tea,  and  your  coffee,  and 
your  wine,  and  your  brandy,  which,  with  all  their  spirit, 
have  no  life  or  life-giving  power.  And  that  is  the  reason 
why  I  have  glorious  health,  strength  and  spirits ;  that  ia 
the  reason  why  I  can  defy  the  storm,  when  I  wish  to  do  it ; 
that  is  the  reason  why  I  shall  never  be  ill — never  decay 
till  I  am  past  a  hundred  years  old — never  die  till  then, 
unless  somebody  sends  a  bullet  through  my  head  or  heart" 

"  You  may  break  your  own  neck  I"  exclaimed  Brutus,  in 
a  tone  as  if  he  wished  she  might  do  so. 

"Break  my  neck — impossible!  There  is  not  a  horse  in 
the  wide  world  could  throw  me,  and  not  a  fall  on  earth  from 
which  I  have  not  the  agility  to  recover  myself.  I  could 
ride  a  lion  1  I  wish  some  enterprising  man  would  bring 
one  here,  and  dare  me  to  do  it !  You  are  not  a  lord  of 
creation,  Brutus,  nor  do  I  know  one  man  who  is — a  luxuri- 
ous and  enervated  pack  I  But  I  am  a  lady  of  creation,  and 
I  tell  you  I  could  ride  a  lion !" 

"  Should  like  to  see  you  try — wonder  how  you  would  ac- 
complish it  ?" 

By  STRENGTH,  Brutus.  God  bless  you,  Brutus,  look  at 
me  !  I  am  STRONG  1  I  could  subdue,  bind,  lay  at  your  feet, 
the  strongest  beef-fed  man  in  the  State  I — any  man  but 
yourself,  Brutus, — by  mere  muscular  force  1" 

"Yes, by  'mere  muscular  force' — you  will  never  'subdue' 
a  man  by  the  force  of  your  beauty,  Gertrude,  although  you 


THE     BRIDAL.  191 

are  beautiful,  or  '  bind'  a  man  by  the  fetters  of  lore,  Ghw- 
trade,  for  you  are  not  lovely." 

"  As  your  Zoe  1" 

"  As  ray  Zoe  1  Now  why,  Gertrude,  do  you  disapprove 
of  Zoe  ?— why  do  you  hate  Zoe  ?" 

"  I  don't  hate  Zoe  ;  neither  do  I  hate  humble-bees,  bat 
I  do  not  particularly  affect  either ;  and  I  will  not  have  a 
little  coffee-brewing,  cake-baking  fool  in  the  house." 

"  You  despise  her  for  her  birth  !" 

"  I  do  not  despise  her  for  her  birth,  although  I  know,  M 
you  do  not  know,  that  she  is  a  mulatto  !" 

"  A  mulatto  1"  echoed  Brutus,  in  dismay. 

"Yes,  a  mulatto  1" 

"  For  God's  sake  !  how  do  you  know  ?  Do  you  know 
anything  of  her  origin  ?" 

"Do  be  quiet,  Brutus,  and  let  go  my  shoulder.  Fes,  a 
mulatto  I  No,  I  know  nothing  of  her  origin  that  personal 
observation  does  not  teach  me." 

"  Nothing  else  ?" 

"No,  I  say  I" 

"  Then  I  am  easy.  I  really  thought  you  had  a  warrant 
for  what  you  said." 

"What  warrant  did  I  want  more  than  my  own  eyes  f 
Zoe  is  of  mixed  African  blood,  I  tell  you.  Look  at  the 
dead  white  skin—" 

"  Susan  Somerville's  is  the  same." 

"  Susan  Somerville's  is  pure  white — clear  white.  Zoe'i 
is  opaque  white.  Look  at  the  darkness  around  her  finger 
nails  ;  look  at  her  rippling  black  hair — not  brownish  black, 
like  the  English  or  American  hair,  or  bluish  black,  like  the 
West  of  Ireland  hair,  or  purplish  black  like  Italian  hair,  but 
jetty  black  like  African  hair,  and  with  the  little,  undulating, 
wavy  curl  all  through  i«." 

"  Poh !     Nonsense  I     The  devil  I     It  is  not  true.     YOU 


192  THE     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

know  nothing  about  it  I  exclaimed  Brutus,  very  pale,  and 
rery  ranch  troubled. 

"It  is  so,  I  tell  you  I"  said  Gertrude.  "And  I  tell  you 
that  that  circumstance  does  not  trouble  me  a  great  deal,  and 
that  I  shall  go  by  for  Zoe  this  evening,  and  wrap  the  liltle 
one  up  in  a  cloak  and  take  her  in  my  sleigh  to  Miss  Arm- 
strong's wedding.  Ha,  ha,  ha !  Little  does  Mrs.  Arm- 
strong guess  that  in  Zoe  Dove  she  will  have  a  mulatto 
guest ! 

"  Gertrude  I  what  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  Little  does  Mrs.  Armstrong  suspect  that  her  daughter'i 
second  bridesmaid  is  a  mulatto — a  slave  /" 

"  Heavens  !  Gertrude  I" 

But,  reader,  we  are  on  our  way.  This  is  the  wedding- 
day  of  Louise  and  Louis,  and,  tempestuous  as  it  is,  we  must 
visit  other  houses  before  the  breakfast  hour. 

The  family  at  the  Isle  of  Rays  was  np  at  the  first  dawn — 
or,  rather,  at  the  earliest  hour,  for  day  'jould  scarcely  be 
said  to  dawn  on  that  22d  of  February.  Apollo  Belvidere, 
fit  herald  of  the  bridal  morn,  rapped  at  his  young  master'i 
door  at  four  o'clock. 

"  How  is  the  weather,  Apollo  ? — it  was  clouding  up  last 
night  before  I  went  to  bed  ;  how  is  it  this  morning  ?"  in- 
quired Louis  Stuart-Gordon,  jumping  out  of  bed  ;  and 
opening  the  door,  Apollo  entered,  set  down  the  wax  taper 
and  hot  water,  and,  lifting  up  both  his  hands  exclaimed. 

"  Br?ss  the  Lor,  massa,  de  wedder  do  seem  to  be  a  tryin' 
of  itseif. >• 

At  The  Crags,  George  and  Hannah  had  arisen  at  an 
early  hour.  Anna  had  left  her  humble  cot  in  a  small  room 
within  that  of  Susan  Somerville,  and,  passing  to  the  bedaid* 
of  the  latter,  had  whispered  softly — 

"  It  is  time  to  rise,  Miss  Susan,  if  you  are  going  to  Mont 
Crystal  to  lay ;  but  the  Mother  is  dreadful;  a  furioup 


THE     BRIDAL.  165 

wind,  with  a  driving  sleet  of  snow  and  hail,  and  the  roads 
impassable ;  the  very  landmarks  lost  in  the  drifted,  and  atill 
drifting  mow." 

"  I  wi.l  go,"  sa  d  Susan,  leaving  her  couch. 

"  Yes,  I  will  go,"  thought  Susan,  as  she  performed  her 
simple  toilet.  "  The  fierceness  of  the  storm  ! — I  shall  lik» 
it,  methinks.  Certainly,  I  shall  not  feel  it !  Yes,  I  will 
go.  If  I  do  not,  Louis  may  suspect  the  extent  of  my 
credulity  and  folly,  and  his  kind  heart  will  be  pained.  I 
will  go." 

She  went,  but  who  could  compute  the  trials  of  that  young 
heart,  when,  to  save  her  friend  from  the  mere  possibility  of 
uneasiness,  she  declined  to  avail  herself  of  the  chance  of 
escape,  and  resolutely  determined  to  be  present  at  the  mar- 
riage of  Louii,  the  funeral  of  her  own  hopes. 

It  was  on  the  stroke  of  five  o'clock  in  the  morning  when 
Kate  Juuaper  entered  her  mistress's  stately  bed-chamber, 
and,  drawing  aside  the  curtains,  said — 

"  Oh,  madam,  what  a  day  I" 

"  Is  it  raining,  then,  Kate  ?"  inquired  the  lady,  who, 
through  the  closed  blinds,  and  closely  curtained  windows, 
and  heavily  draped  alcove  in  which  stood  her  bed,  could 
not  hear  the  tempest. 

"It  has  been  storming,  madam ;  it  has  been  storming  all 
night ;  sleet  and  snow  driven  by  a  high  wild  ;  the  ground 
is  covered ;  you  cannot  see  the  tops  of  the  fences,  and  the 
tempest  is  still  raging  fiercely ;  the  roads,  I  am  sure,  must 
be  impassable,"  said  the  mulatto,  (who,  from  constant  asso- 
ciation with  the  family,  spoke  better  English  than  Taost  of 
her  race,)  and  she  laid  the  velvet  slippers  of  l--?  mistreat 
ready  for  her  to  rise. 

Mrs.  Armstrong,  rising,  drew  ja  her  wadded  dressing- 
gown,  and  going  to  the  window,  and  drawing  aside  the 
curtains,  an^  "Growing  open  the  shatters,  looked  oat  with 
dismay 


194  TEB     MOTHlB-Ilf-LJLW. 

Roused  from  her  light  slumbers  by  the  sudden  blast  o" 
the  storm  against  the  windows,  Louise  started  from  he* 
conch,  and,  nervous  and  superstitious  as  she  was,  shook  with 
terror  at  such  an  awakening  on  her  bridal  morn  1  She 
•lipped  from  her  bed  and  went  and  stood  by  her  mother's 
side.  With  something  like  tenderness  for  the  child  that  had 
just  passed  the  last  night  she  ever  would  pass  in  her  mo- 
ther's chamber,  Mrs.  Armstrong  put  her  arm  around  her 
daughter's  waist,  and,  divining  her  thooghts,  said — 

"It  may  clear  away  before  evening,  Louise  ;  nay,  it  must 
clear  away  before  noon  ;  it  has  been  storming  all  night, 
tuid  a  storm  seldom  lasts  so  long." 

"'Blessed  is  the  bride  that  the  sun  shines  on  ;'  is  not  that 
the  proverb,  mother  ? 

"  Proverbs^  are  vulgar,  Miss  Armstrong,"  replied  the 
haughty  woman,  who  for  five  minutes  would  not  give  way 
to  tenderness. 

"  I  wish  the  sun  would  shine  out  to-day,"  mnrmured 
Louise. 

"The  san  of  fortune  shines  upon  your  marriage,  Miss 
Armstrong  :  and  Mrs.  Stuart-Gordon  will  to-morrow  be 
independent  of  any  other  light.  It  will  be  her  mother's 
halls  that  will  be  left  in  gloom,"  coldly  and  bitterly  con- 
cluded the  lady. 

"  Mother — mother  I"  exclaimed  Louise,  throwing  herself, 
tor  the  first  time,  sobbing,  into  her  mother's  arms.  "  Mo- 
ther— mother — I  will  stay  with  you,  if  you  wish  it  1  Do 
irith  me  aa  you  please  !"  for  am  I  not  your  own  child  ?  Do 
J  not  owe  yon  life  ?  Mother — mother — you  are  my  creator 
almost ;  take  me  to  your  bosom,  and  nourish  me  with  your 
lore,  at  you  once  did  in  my  infancy,  mother,  and  I  will 
neter,  n-jver  ICAVC  you." 

"And  Louis  then?"  inquired  the  lady,  'u  cold  tone*, 
Hst  with  secret  satisfy tion,  thong1!  she  would  not  aart 
rtopped  the  marriage  now  for  the  world. 


THJC    BKIBAL.  196 

"  Look  1  oh,  yes,  poor  Louis  I"  raurm  i  id  LoiiM  in  a 

roice  of  distress. 

"Yon  are  ridiculous,  Miss  Armstrong,"  said  her  mother, 
coldly  turning  away. 

The  sun  did  not  shine  out  that  day.  At  noon,  the  tem- 
pest subsided,  and  there  seemed  some  prospect  of  a  clear 
afternoon.  It  was  in  the  lull  of  the  storm  that  Susan  Somer- 
Tille,  attended  by  Anna,  arrived  in  a  sleigh,  driven  by 
George.  Mrs.  Armstrong  received  her  with  much  polite- 
ness, and  conducted  her  at  once  into  the  apartment  of  the 
bride.  Mrs.  Armstrong  augured  well  for  this  arrival,  for  the 
success  of  her  fete. 

"If  Miss  Somerville  could  pass  the  frightful  road  leading 
from  The  Crags,  others  can  come, "  she  thought  And 
soon,  indeed,  was  seen  another  sleigh,  containing  little  Zoe, 
carefully  wrapped  in  blankets,  and  driven  by  Gertrude  Lion 
Coming  up  with  a  sudden  jerk,  Gertrude  flung  the  rein 
upon  the  horse's  reck,  springing  out  knee-deep  in  the  snow 
caugh';  Zoe  up  in  her  arms,  and  bearing  her  on  through  th« 
drifts,  carried  her  in  the  hall,  and  set  her  down,  laughing 
uproariously.  Mrs.  Armstrong,  drawn  from  the  saloon  by 
tlie  noise,  caine  out  to  meet  them. 

"  There,  Mrs.  Armstrong,  I  have  brought  you  your  second 
bridesmaid.  You  would  not  have  got  her  but  for  me. 

"  Thank  you." 

"  0,  by  no  means ;  I  had  a  particular  wish  thit  yott 
should  not  aiss  your  second  bridesmaid  1" 

"  If  we  had  been  so  unfortunate  as  to  have  miised  the  as- 
sistance of  this  young  lady,  another  could  have  been  found 
among  the  guests." 

"  But,"  said  Gertrude,  fixing  her  blaring  light  eyea  npoa 
the  face  of  the  lady,  "  /  had  a  particular  wish  that  ioe 
thould  attend  her—" 

She  passed — paused  in  astonishment.  The  haughty  wo- 
man »ucdir.;  before  ae  had  changed  si  if  wddealy  etnwi 


196  THI     KOTHKK-IN-LAW. 

with  palsy.  Her  form  was  braced  back  against  the  wall 
and  shuddering ;  her  stony  brow  blanched  and  corrugated ; 
her  cold,  sleet  eyes  riveted  on  the  radiant  face  of  Gertrude. 

"  Well  ?"  she  exclaimed  hastily  ;  "  go  on  ;  why  do  you 
•top  ?" 

"Well,  I  had  a  particular  wish  that  Zoe  should  attend 
her— friend"  said  Gertrude,  in  a  calm  voice,  with  a  care- 
less look. 

"  But,  Mrs.  Armstrong,  you  are  not  well ;  you  have  been 
agitated,"  said  she  with  an  affectation  of  interest. 

"I  have  been  agitated  and  over-fatigued,"  replied  the  la- 
dy ;  "  and  really,  Miss  Lion,  your  manners  are  somewhat 
boisterous  and  startling,  in  a  quiet  house ;  you  are  so  em- 
phatic on  trifles  that — but  pardon  me,  I  keep  you  in  the 
draught."  Then,  touching  a  bell,  which  was  immediately 
answered  by  Kate  Jumper,  she  said — 

"  Kate,  show  Miss  Zoe  Dove  into  the  dressing  room  -jf 
your  young  lady,  and  then  attend  Miss  Lion  to  the  apart- 
ment prepared  for  her."  And  with  a  stately  bow,  Mrs 
Armstrong  swept  on  from  the  hall. 

An  hour  or  two  later,  other  sleighs  with  guests  began  to 
arrive.  The  bridal  toilet  of  Louise  Armstrong  was  com- 
mencing in  the  gorgeous  dressing-room  prepared  for  her 
use.  Although  her  two  bridesmaids  were  in  attendance,  it 
was  the  artistic  taste  of  Britannia  O'Riley  that  arranged 
her  dress.  The  bride  sat  before  a  large  cheval-mirror.  She 
wore  a  robe  of  Mechlin  lace,  with  a  deep,  rich  border  of 
embroidered  rosebuds  entwined  with  orange  flowers,  and  worn 
over  a  white  satin  under-dress.  Her  pale,  blond  hair  waa 
braided  over  her  ears,  to  suit  the  gentle  madonna  style  of 
her  countenance.  Near  her,  on  the  back  of  a  chair,  waa 
thrown  a  large  and  splendid  Mechlin  veil,  of  a  similar  pet- 
tern  to  that  of  the  dress.  On  the  toilet-table  were  various 
gloves,  fans,  essences,  extracts,  &c.,  and  a  case  of  diamonds, 


THE     S  a  I  D  A  L.  197 

the  bridal  offering  of  General  Stnart-Gordon,  and  a  caiket 
of  pearls,  the  gift  of  her  mother. 

Britannia  stood  behind  the  bride,  smoothing  with  her 
hand  the  bands  of  her  fair  hair,  until  they  shone  again.  Zoe 
lifted  the  casket  cf  diamonds,  and  taking  from  it  a  bandean, 
held  it  towards  Miss  Armstrong.  Louise  reached  her  hand 
for  it. 

"  No,  no,  my  lore,"  said  Britannia,  returning  the  jewels, 
"  no  gems  for  you  ;  not  one,  Louise  ;  they  are  too  cold  and 
glittering,  and  too  hard  and  sharp  for  the  touch.  They 
suit  me,  Louise,  not  you ;  me,  Louise,  who  am  unloving 
and  unloved ;  who,  upon  occasions,  can  be  hard,  cold  bril- 
liant, and  sharp — ay,  and  regal — like  them  ;  me,  who  flash 
out  anger  with  the  sparks  of  my  rubies,  and  scorn  with  the 
gleam  of  my  emeralds.  But  you,  Louise,  loving  and  loved 
. — fair,  soft,  and  gentle — you  must  present  no  hard  surfaces, 
no  sharp  points  ;  no — flowers  for  you,  Louise." 

Zoe,  attentive,  alert,  opened  a  band-box,  and  took  out  a 
white  wreath. 

"No,  no,  it  will  not  do,"  smiled  Brighty,  "fresh  bloom- 
ing flowers  we  want.  I  will  go  and  gather  a  wreath  from 
the  conservatory.  But  what  are  yon  doing  there,  Zoe  ?" 

"I  am  scenting  her  handkerchief." 

"  Oh,  throw  the  via',  in  the  fire  !  I  detest  those  odious 
and  sickening  French  extracts.  The  aroma  from  her  rose- 
buds and  orange  blossoms,  the  fresh  living  breath  of  the 
flowers  will  be  best."  And  Brighty,  leaving  the  bride, 
went  down  stairs  to  select  the  wreath  and  bouquet. 

On  opening  the  glass  doors  leading  from  the  saloon  into 
the  conservatory,  Brighty  started  violently,  and  repressed 
an  exclamation  of  dismay  and  horror  at  the  sight  of  blasted 
desolation  that  met  her  eyes.  That  fine  conservatory  of  the 
most  beautiful  and  fragrant  flowers  of  our  own  clime,  and 
of  the  rarest  tropical  exotics ;  that  splendid  conserratory, 
that  was  the  winder  and  the  envy  of  the  whole  coanty; 
12 


198  THE     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

that  cherished  conservatory,  that  for  years  and  yean  haa 
received  the  most  careful  attention  ;  hi-d,  in  the  bustle  and 
hurry  attendant  upon  the  wedding,  been  forgotten  and  neg- 
lected, the  fire  iu  the  furnace  had  been  suffered  to  go  out, 
and  the  night  had  fallen  intensely  cold  ;  and  now,  cpon  tho 
bridal  morning  the  flowers  were  found  dsad ;  rll  withered 
by  the  blighting  cold  1 

"  What  an  ominous  day  I"  exclaimed  Brighty,  is  she 
turned  from  that  scene  of  blasted  life,  and  thoughtfully  and 
slowly  returned  to  the  bride. 

"  I  do  not  like  her  toilet  at  all,"  said  Brighty,  "  her  beau- 
tiful robe  and  veil  are  both  perfect,  but  her  brow  crowned 
with  artificial  roses,  and  her  handkerchief  saturated  with  a 
venomous  French  extract.  No,  I  do  not  like  it." 

"  Now  you  are  quite  ready,"  said  Zoe,  "  and  oh,  so  beau- 
tiful and  sweet,  Louise !  Now,  Susan,  we  will  put  on  om 
white  muslins,  for  Louis  will  be  here  presently." 

Susan  Somerville,  who  had  taken  no  part  in  this  toilet, 
because  her  assistance  was  unnecessary,  now  arose,  and. 
laying  off  her  dark  riding-habit,  was  preparing  to  change 
her  dress,  when,  seeing  Louise  looking  very  pensive,  she 
went  up  to  her  and  said,  in  a  low  voice,  not  to  be  heard  by 
any  of  the  others — 

"  You  are  very  serious,  Louise ;  can  I  do  any  thing  for 
you  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  Susan,  I  want  to  see  my  dear  mother  once 
more,  here,  before  Louis  comes." 

"  I  will  go  and  bring  her,"  said  Susan,  leaving  the  room 

Soon  Miss  Somerville  returned,  and,  stooping  down, 
whispered — 

"Your  mother  is  particularly  engaged,  and  cannot  come, 
Louise  1" 

The  bride  burst  into  tears  1 

"  Ah,  well  1 — yes,  here  is  a  pretty  catastrophe  I  You 
«mt  breik  ycrr  heart  because  '  mother'  cannot  tare  tht 


THE     BRIDAL.  199 

reception  of  her  gnests,  to  make  %  scene  with  yon !"  ex- 
claimed Brighty,  will  well-feignod  petulance. 

"  Oh,  it  is  not  that,  Brighty  ;  you  know  it  is  not  that!" 

"Well,  then,  becanse  she  will  not — because  she  is  selfish, 
coW  and  hard,  and — " 

Here  the  gentle  hand  of  Zoe  fell  softly  on  the  arm  of 
Brighty,  and  the  gentle  eyes  of  Zoo  were  raised  reprovingly 
and  imploringly  to  her  face. 

"  Yes,  I  was  wrong,  Zoe,  my  little  mentor.  But,  Zoe, 
thank  God  that,  like  me,  you  are  alone  in  the  world,  and 
BO,  are  sure  that  your  spirit  will  never  be  wounded,  your 
heart  never  bruised;  for  none  but  those  we  love  have  power 
to  break  the  spirit  or  crush  the  heart,  Zoe." 

"  Mr.  Stuart-Gordon,  with  his  attendants,  await  your 
leisure,  Miss  Armstrong,"  coldly  announced  Mrs.  Arm- 
strong, as  she  swung  open  the  chamber-door,  and  stood 
among  them. 

"  Let  them  enter"  said  the  bride,  in  a  low  voice,  repelled 
and  chilled  by  the  coldness  of  her  mother. 

Britannia,  lifting  the  elegant  vail  from  the  chair,  throwing 
it  over  the  head  and  form  of  Louise,  gracefully  arranged  it, 
and  soon  the  little  party  were  marshaled  down  stairs,  and 
into  the  saloon. 

Owing  to  the  frightful  tempestuousness  of  the  weather, 
the  vast  saloon  was  very  sparsely  sprinkled  with  company. 

"What  a  beautiful  couple!"  "What  a  well-matched 
pair  !"  "  So  youthful !"  "  So  interesting !"  "  How  hand- 
tome  is  Louis !"  How  pretty  is  Louise !"  "  What  an 
elegant  bridegroom!"  "What  a  lovely  bride !"  were  the 
whispered  words  of  admiration  that  greeted  their  entrZe. 

As  the  bridal  group  took  its  station  in  the  middle  of  the 
floor,  the  company  arose  and  gathered  around.  The  ser- 
yice  commenced — it  went  on — amid  the  howling  of  the 
Btofm  that  drowned  the  responses — it  was  over.  The  white 
bands  or  Susan  Somerville  reverently  raised  the  gorgeou 


200  THJ     MOTHEB.IN-HW. 

rail  from  the  head  of  the  bride,  and  carried  it  HWPJ — and 
BO  one  noticed  how  pale  and  ill  was  Miss  Somerville,  whilf 
friends  and  neighbors  crowded  around  to  congratulate 
'  Mrs.  Stuart-Gordon." 

"  What  a  grand  uame  for  such  a  little  body !"  whimpered 
Zoe,  laughingly,  to  Britannia. 

"  Yes :  and  what  a  fierce  name  Lion  would  be  for  such  a 
gentle  little  love  as  you,  Zoe  !" 

Zoe  crimsoned,  and  slunk  away  behind  the  ample  folds 
of  Mrs.  Armstrong's  purple  velvet  gown. 

General  Stuart-Gordon  advanced  at  this  moment  to  offer 
his  congratulations  to  his  son  and  daughter-in-law,  and  met 
the  bright  face  of  Miss  O'Riley,  while  the  smile  and  glance 
of  mirth  still  lingered  there.  With  a  deep  bow  to  Brighty, 
he  addressed  himself  to  the  fair  bride. 

The  newly-married  pair  now  took  their  seats  with  their 
attendants. 

It  was  now  that  Brutus  Lion  and  his  sister  Gertrude — 
I  beg  their  pardon,  Mr.  and  Miss  Lion  of  The  Lair — ad- 
vanced to  pay  their  compliments.  Brutus,  in  his  new  suit 
of  Lincoln  -  green  with  gilt  buttons,  his  elf  locks  cut, 
brushed,  and  pomatumed,  and  Gertrude,  looking  like  the 
Queen  of  the  Amazons,  with  her  mazarine  blue  satin  and 
her  rolling  yellow  hair — or  yellow  mane,  as  Brutus,  the 
brute !  called  it — with  her  rolling  yellow  hair  gathered  into 
a  huge  knot,  and  pierced  and  held  by  a  long  jeweled 
arrow. 

"  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Stuart-Gordon,  I  salute  your  highnesses  I 
You  sit  there  as  calmly  as  though  something  astounding 
had  not  just  happened  to  you  1  I  especially  refer  to  Mm. 
Stuart-Gordon.  This  little  creature,"  and  here  the  golden- 
haired  Amazon  took  the  delicate  and  white-gloved  hand  of 
Louise  in  her  own,  "this  little  one,  was  this  morning 
'Louise' — a  little  girl  to  be  snubbed  by  her  waiting-maiu, 
•eolded  by  her  governess,  and  lectured  by  mamma ;  this 


THI     BRIDAL.  201 

•reningsheis  'Mrs.  Stuart-Gordon  I'  Stupendous!  Louise, 
can  you  bear  it  ?  I  declare  to  you,  Louise,  thr»t  there  is 
not  a  young  lady  present  who  could  not  support  your 
honors  with  a  more  imposing  dignity  than  you  do  !  Myself 
for  instance  !  I  am  tall  and  strong,  and  could  sustain  the 
burden  of  a  great  name !  And  Brighty  there !  I  assert 
that  Brighty  seemed  born  to  be  the  mistress  of  The  Isle  of 
Rays !  Why,  even  Susan  Somerville  would  look  Mrs. 
Stuart-Gordon  better  than  you  do,  little  one  I  the  ugh  Susan 
Sowerville  will  make  a  Virginian  matron  of  the  first  class, 
and  of  the  most  approved  stamp  !  Where  is  Susan  ?  Yes  I 
where  is  she  ?  I  have  not  seen  her  since  she  raised  the  veil 
from  your  head,  Louise  !" 

"  Yes  I  where  is  Susan,  love  ?"  whispered  Louis  to 
Louise. 

"  I  do  not  know  ;  I  will  send  and  see.  Miss  Dove,  will 
you  seek  Miss  Somerville  ?" 

Zoe  sprang  to  obey,  but  Britannia,  by  a  sudden  thought, 
caught  her  arm,  arresting  her  flight,  and  saying — 

"  Stop — Miss  Somerville  carried  off  your  veil,  inad.."3, 
and  will  soon  return,  without  doubt." 

In  the  meanwhile,  where  was  Susan  Somerville  ?  All 
through  the  day,  all  through  the  toilet  of  Louise,  she  had 
sustained  herself  by  an  almost  superhuman  exertion  of  will. 
She  had  thought  herself  prepared  by  steady  and  firm  antici- 
pation for  the  meeting  with  Louis ;  but  at  the  first  sight  of 
his  face,  the  first  sound  of  his  voice,  her  courage  had  for- 
saken her.  All  through  the  ceremony  she  stood,  her  brain 
reeling,  her  heart  sinking,  her  limbs  failing  under  her  ;  yet 
«he  stood  seemingly  very  quiet,  so  calm  and  white  was  the 
habitual  style  of  her  face.  I  said  that  the  ir  arriage  of  Louis 
was  the  funeral  of  her  happiness.  Each  word  of  the  ritual 
that  severed  her  forever  from  Louis  fell  upon  her  ears  like 
the  reiterated  blows  by  which  a  limb  may  be  slowly  and 
painfully  cut  off — fell  upo  •  her  heart  like  clods  upon  a  coflU 


203  THE     MOTHKR-IN-LAW. 

lid.  At  the  conclusion  of  the  ceremony  she  felt  her  sen&ei 
going — the  scene  all  mingled  into  chaos  and  swam  before 
her  sight — a  confused  and  painfu1  flashing  of  lights,  and 
glancing  of  eyes,  and  glittering  of  trinkets — a  confused 
clashing  of  sounds,  where  girlish  laughter,  mingled  with 
deep-toned,  heart-felt  words  of  sympathy,  and  with  moaning 
of  the  storm  without — pressed  in  upon  her  brain.  To  save 
herself,  and  with  a  last  effort  of  self-control,  she  raised  the 
veil  from  the  brow  of  the  bride,  and  bore  it  away.  Falter- 
ing through  the  long  passages,  and  up  the  great  staircase, 
she  found  her  room.  A  little  fire  was  burning  there,  and  a 
dim  tiper  was  standing  on  the  mantelpiece.  Anna  was 
seated  by  the  fire.  Unheeding  this,  she  approached  the 
side  of  the  bed,  sank  down  upon  her  knees,  dropped  the 
veil  upon  the  bed,  her  arras  upon  the  veil,  and  her  head 
npon  her  arms,  and  unconsciously  gave  way  to  a  succession 
of  low,  deep  moans,  like  one  in  acute  bodily  pain  might  do — 
eproaching  herself  bitterly  the  while  for  the  sin  and  shame 
of  her  present  sufferings.  A  rap  was  heard  at  the  door, 
but  Susan  did  not  heed.  Anna  went  to  the  door.  It  was 
Mrs.  Armstrong — 

"  Is  Miss  Somerville  in  her  chamber  ?" 

"  Yes,  madam  ;  and  as  soon  as  she  has  arranged  her 
dress,  she  will  return  to  the  saloon,"  Anna  hastened  to  say, 
in  order  to  prevent  questions. 

Let  Miss  Somerville  know  that  we  await  her  presence  to 
commence  the  quadrilles,"  said  the  lady,  and  turned  and 
left  the  passage. 

"Miss  Somerville,"  murmured  Anna,  softly,  near  the  ear 
of  Susan. 

The  poor  girl  started,  blushed,  and,  rising  in  confusion, 
•he  crossed  the  room,  and  seated  herself  in  the  chair  by  the 
fire,  unconsciously,  av  1  without  replying. 

"  Miss  Susan,  Mrs.  Armstrong  has  gent  for  you.  They 
ixrect  you  in  tk  >  saloon. 


THIS     BBIDAL.  203 

The  fire-light,  flaring  up  upon  the  face  of  Snsan  Somer- 
rille,  showed  the  features  contracted  with  suffering.  Sht 
gazed  at  Anna  with  confused  and  half-conscious  expression 
of  countenance. 

"  Shall  I  assist  you  to  arrange  your  dress,  Miss  Somer- 
ville ?" 

"  Oh  !  Anna,  tell  them  that  I  am  fatigued— ill !" 

"In  that  case,  dear  lady,  your  room  would  be  filled  by 
officious  and  inquiring  people — better  try  to  go  down." 

"Yes  I     I  had  !     But,  oh,  Anna  I  if  you  knew!" 

"My  dear  and  honored  mistress,  I  do  know!  I  know 
all  1"  said  Anna,  kneeling  at  her  feet,  and  taking  and  press- 
ing and  kissing  both  her  hands. 

Susan  dropped  her  head  upon  the  bosom  of  Anna,  and 
wept  freely — long  and  freely.  These  were  the  first  tearg 
she  had  shed,  and  they  relieved  her,  of  course.  Still  Anna, 
kneeling  at  her  feet  with  the  attitude  and  tones  of  deepest 
-espect  and  warmest  sympathy,  still  caressing  her  hands, 
ipoke,  gently,  as  follows — 

"  He  is  not  worthy  of  you,  Miss  Somerville  !  Oh,  believe 
it  1  believe  the  instincts  of  affection  that  assure  me  when  I 
tell  you  he  is  not  worthy  of  you — not  wise  and  strong 
enough  for  you.  And  I  would  rather  see  you  weep  here, 
than  be  the  wife  of  one  not  fitted  to  retain  your  esteem, 
though  that  man  were  master  of  The  Isle  of  Rays.  And 
I,  Miss  Somerville — I,  poor  Anna  Wood — would  rather  bo 
the  isolated  being  that  I  am,  cut  off  by  education  from  one 
class,  and  by  position  from  the  other — I  would  rather  be 
myself  with  my  full  heart  and  brain,  capable  of  deeply 
loving,  profoundly  thinki  ag,  and  greatly  suffering — than  be 
that  poor,  little  bride  down  stairs,  with  her  brilliant  position 
and  her  famished  heart  and  head.  Yes,  weep !  Grief  breaks 
np  the  soil  of  the  heart,  and  tears  water  and  fertilize  it. 
Ton  will  have  a  rich  heart — for  hearts  grow  rich  by  suffer- 
i»f  •  at  lea**  10  it  teems  to  me.  You  will  bare  »  rich 


204  THE     M  0  T  H  E  R  - 1  X  -  L  A  W. 

heart — a  rich  mind  perhaps.  There  is  compensation  la 
most  things.  Xo  tear  ever  fell,  no  pang  was  ever  wrung  in 
vain.  Those  who  have  spent  a  life  of  tears  and  pains  must 
find  consolation  somewhere.  Oh,  believe  this,  if  you  pre- 
tend to  believe  in  the  justice  and  mercy  of  God.  I,  Miss 
Somerville,  with  all  my  cravings  after  a  full  life  of  affections 
— and  you  know  that  people  of  my  race  and  color  live  more 
through  their  affections  than  through  their  intellects — I 
know  that  I  shall  have  to  pass  through  life  alone — alone 
but  for  you  now,  Miss  Somerville,  and  quite  alone  when 
you  shall  be  married,  as  you  will  be  in  a  few  years !  Well ! 
I  shall  pass  through  life  alone.  I  am  not,  therefore,  un- 
happy !  I  devote  myself  to  somebody's  interests,  to  some 
worthy  object — and  I  live.  Ah !  Miss  Somerville,  I  feel 
that  my  words  only  annoy  you  now ;  that  you  would  prefer 
silence  to  all  this  talk.  No  matter,  you  will  think  of  my 
words  hereafter;  and  for  the  silence  you  will  have  it  at 
last.  But  now,  Miss  Somerville,  a  duty  lies  before  you — a 
duty  that  you  owe  to  yourself.  You  must  rouse  yourself 
and  go  below.  For  days,  weeks,  perhaps,  you  must  mingle 
with  this  g  y  edding  party  ;  and  then  we  will  go  home — 
to  our  quiet  home  at  The  Crags — where  we  will  have  pro- 
found peace  and  old  books — the  company  of  our  'brave  un- 
fortunates'— the  heroes  and  martyrs  of  the  past,  whose 
example  will  lend  us  strength  to  endure  our  own  trials. 
Come,  Miss  Susan  !  let  me  arrange  your  hair." 

Miss  Somerville,  ca.med  by  her  fit  of  wee.ping — consoled, 
too,  by  the  delicate  attachment  of  Anna — suffered  her  hair 
to  be  le-dressed  and  her  muslin  robe  to  be  re-arranged,  and 
then  descended  the  stairs  to  the  saloon. 

Btttaunia  and  Zoe,  with  Gertrude  and  Brutus  Liou,  met 
her  *  Ite  door. 

"  Ton  are  BO  pale  1  Arc  you  ill,  Susan  ?"  inquired  Zoe, 
irtta  interest 


T  H  S     B  R  I  D  A  L.  205 

This  question  drew  the  close  attention  of  the  whole  group 
*pon  Miss  Somerviile. 

'•Are  you  not  well?"  abruptly  inquired  Gertrude. 

"  I  perceive  that  Miss  Somerviile  has  taken  cold,  as  I 
thought  she  would,"  remarked  Britannia,  drawing  Susan's 
arm  within  her  own,  and  carrying  her  off. 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Stuart-Gordon  you  will  do  me  a  plea~ar» 
if  you  will  invite  Miss  O'Riley  to  accompany  you  to  the 
Isle  of  Rays  when  we  return,"  said  General  Stuart-Gordon 
to  his  daughter-in-law,  as  his  eyes  followed  admiringly  the 
elegant  form  and  radiant  face  of  Brighty  through  the  room. 

"  Oh,  thank  you  !  I  will  do  so  with  great  pleasure  !  I 
had  even  wished  to  ask  your  permission  to  do  so !"  ex- 
claimed Louise,  her  usually  downcast  eyes  now  raised  and 
sparkling. 

"  My  permission  !"  smiled  the  General,  pleased  at  her 
happy  acquiescence  and  amused  at  her  girlish  humility. 
"  My  permission  I  ray  dear  Mrs.  Stuart-Gordon  1"  he  said, 
playfully,  emphasizing  her  new  nnine  and  title.  "Get 
accustomed  to  your  new  dignity  as  a  housekeeper,  and  invite 
your  own  company,  and  select  your  own  society,  without 
dreaming  that  I  shall  interfere  I" 

At  this  moment,  Brutus  Lion,  coming  forward  with  a 
grave  bow,  solicited  the  hand  of  the  -bride  for  the  first 
quadrille,  and  led  her  off  to  the  head  of  the  set. 

"Take  Susan,  and  bring  her  to  make  up  this  set,"  whis- 
pered the  bride. 

And  in  two  minutes  more  Louis  stood  opposite  to  them, 
with  Susan  Somerviile  by  his  side,  and  her  hand  clasped 
within  his  own. 

The  music  now  broke  forth  in  peals  of  joy,  but  failed  to 
drown  the  noise  of  the  tempest,  which  had  revived  in  all 
iU  fory. 

The  raging  of  the  storm,  the  terrible  state  of  the  roads, 
and  the  pitch  darkness  of  the  sky,  prevented  the  return 
that  vifffet  ^  asy  of  the  wedding  fMffe 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE     BEVKLKK8. 

King,  Joyous  chord*  1    Bat  who  art  thou, 

With  the  shadowy  locks  o'er  thy  pale  young  brow, 

And  the  world  of  dreamy  gloom  that  lies 

In  the  misty  depths  of  thy  soft  dark  eyes  T 

Thou  has  lored,  fair  girl ;  thon  hast  loved  too  well ; 

Thou  art  mourning  now  o'er  a  broken  spell ; 

Thou  hast  poured  thy  heart's  rich  treasures  forth, 

And  art  nnrepald  for  their  priceless  worth. 

Mourn  on  ;  yet  come  not  here  the  while, 

It  la  but  a  pain  to  see  thee  smile  ; 

There  is  not  a  tone  in  oar  song  for  thee — 

Home,  with  thy  sorrows,  flee  ! — Hemaiu. 

MRS.  ARMSTRONG  rang  her  bell  at  an  early  hour  the  next 
morning.  Kate  Juniper  answered  it. 

"  Let  Miss  O'Riley  know  that  I  shall  be  pleased  to  see 
her  alone  here,  at  her  earliest  convenience,"  commanded  the 
lady. 

Kate  Jumper  handed  her  mistress  her  dressing-gown, 
and  disappeared  to  obey  her  orders. 

She  returned  in  an  instant  to  say  that  Miss  O'Riley 
would  wait  on  Mrs.  Armstrong  in  half  an  hour  And,  by 
the  time  the  stately  toilet  of  the  dowager  was  completed* 
Britannia  rapped  for  admittance. 

Britannia,  in  an  elegant  morning-dress  of  dark-blue  satio, 
with  black  lace  falls — Brighty  always  made  "une  grand* 
toilette  "  when  she  expected  to  encounter  pride  and  arro- 
gance in  others — so  Brighty  presented  herself,  making  her 
morning  salutation  with  easy  dignity. 

"  You  may  retire,  Kate.  I  sent  for  yon,  Miss  O'Riley, 
10  i«y,  that,  after  to-day,  as  jour  sorrices  to  MiM  Am- 

(•to 


THE     REVELERS.  207 

•trong — or,  rather,  to  Mr».  Stuart-Gordon — will  no  longer 
oe  required,  your  furtliei  stay  at  Mont  Crystal  can  be  di§- 
p^nsed  with.  I  am  awaie  that  you  are  engaged  by  tho 
j»»r,  and  that  four  or  five  months  remain.  Will  you  draw 
that  writing-desk  toward  me  ?" 

"  If  yon  will  excuse  me,  no,  Mrs.  Armstrong." 

"No  part  of  your  service,  eh  ?  Well,  truly,  I  hired  you 
kit  a  governess,  not  a  waiting-maid ;  and  servants  of  all 
grades  are  great  sticklers  for  rank." 

"Excuse  me  again,  Mrs.  Armstrong, — but  the  desk  is  in 
your  reach  and  out  of  mine  ;  besides,  I  fancy  you  are  stronger 
in  the  arms  than  myself.  However" — and  Brighty,  by  a  sec- 
ond and  better  impulse,  took  hold  of  the  desk  and  wheeled 
it  before  the  lady. 

"  I  was  about  to  say,  Miss  O'Riley,"  said  the  lady,  un- 
locking the  desk  and  taking  from  it  a  roll  of  bank-notes, 
"that  for  these  four  or  five  months  I  am  willing  to  pay 
you  a  half-year's  salary."  And  she  tendered  Britannia 
the  money. 

Brighty  waved  it  back. 

"  No,  Mrs.  Armstrong  ;  I  cannot  accept  a  dollar  beyond 
Ike  amount  of  my  salary  up  to  this  day.  I  shall  leave 
your  house  to-morrow."  And  curtsying,  Britannia  with- 
drew from  the  room. 

In  truth,  the  prospects  of  Britannia  were  not  cheering. 
She  would  have  died  rather  than  have  accepted  one  dollar 
beyond  her  saiary  up  to  the  date  of  her  dismissal,  or  have 
remained  another  day  at  Mont  Crystal. 

Poor  Brighty !  Extravagant  love  of  dress  and  jewelry 
kept  her  nearly  penniless ;  and  when  she  regained  her  own 
apartment  and  counted  over  her  slender  stock  of  money, 
and  found  only  the  change  of  her  last  half-eagle,  she  was 
nearly  in  despair. 

Brighty  was  no  heroine ;  and  you  are  not  to  expect  any 
of  thf  hercic  virtues  to  be  manifested  in  her  character  ot 


208  THE     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

conduct;  so  she  walked  about  the  floor,  communing  rilh 
herself  as  follows, — 

"  Well,  well,  what  am  I  to  do  ?  I  might  have  savec 
threB  or  four  hundred  dollars  if  I  had  been  economical 
and  worn  calico  dresses  and  horn  combs;  or,  being  extrav 
agant  as  I  have  been,  I  might  have  still  remained  here  if 
I  had  submitted  to  Mrs.  Armstrong's  arrogance.  Oh 
Brighty,  Brighty !  see  what  you  have  done  by  being  vaia, 
extravagant,  and  ill-tempered  1  Economy  is  so  commenda- 
ble, and  meekness  is  so  charming,  and  J  do  so  thoroughly 
admire  both  !  Yet  the  mischief  of  it  is,  1  can  neither  fret 
my  senses  by  coarse  clothing,  nor  my  temper  by  other  peo- 
ple's arrogance.  Oh,  Brighty  1  you  were  cut  out  for  a 
princess  and  spoiled  in  the  making  up  I  You  are  a  dis- 
located queen.  Now,  where  away  ?  I  shall  never,  never 
find  another  luxurious  home, — another  really  superb  patron 
(for  Mrs.  Armstrong  is  that,  with  all  her  illness), — or  an- 
other refined  pupil  in  the  State  I  Oh,  I  shall  probably  find 
myself  governess  to  half-a-dozen  double-chinned,  short- 
nosed  girls  and  boys,  who  munch  raw  turnips  in  school, 
and  whose  mother  cuts  out  her  own  cloth-clothes  and  cow- 
hides her  own  maids.  Oh,  Britannia,  Britannia  I  see  what 
you  have  done  for  yourself  by  your  regal  airs  !  And 
then  you  must  refuse  General  Stuart-Gordon  !  Was  tl^re 
ever  such  an  egregious  fool  as  Britannia  O'Riley  ?"  And 
Brighty  thought  gratefully  and  remorsefully  of  General 
Stuart-Gordon. 

"  He  is  fond  of  me,  nt  any  rate,  and  after  all,  is  it  not  ai 
well  for  a  girl  like  me  to  be  passively  loved  as  actively 
loving  ?"  said  Brighty,  smoothing  her  ringlets  and  adjust- 
ing her  dress. 

"  Brighty  1"  said  the  bride  the  same  morning,  "  ther«  Li 
one  great  privilege  in  having  a  home  of  one's  own." 

"You  always  have  had  such  a  home,  my  love." 

14  In  befog  mittresi  cf  a  home,  then  ?" 


THE     B1V1L1BS.  809 

"And  such  a  splendid  home,  Louise  I" 

"It  is  that  one  may  share  it  with  their  best  friends!" 
exclaimed  the  bride,  throwing  herself  in  Brighty's  arms. 
"  Oh,  Brighty  1  come  home  with  me,  and  be  my  sister,  until 
you  are  married  yourself." 

Brighty  slightly  started  at  the  last  supposition,  and 
looked  keenly  at  Louise.  She  only  saw  the  hitherto  pale 
girl  with  her  eyes  bright  as  stars  and  her  lips  apart  and 
dewy  with  happiness  and  hope.  Brighty  smiled  in  her 
eyes  and  caressed  her  hair. 

"  My  love,  I  thank  you  !  But  consider !  This  is  a  most 
unreasonable  request  of  yours  !" 

"  Why,  Brighty  ?"  exclaimed  the  bride,  in  astonishment. 

"Why,  yes,  love.  Think  of  it!  You  and  Louis  would 
be  the  most  insupportable  hosts  on  earth  for  the  next  teonth 
or  two.  Think  of  it!  A  month  with  a  newly-married 
bride  and  groom  1  I  should  expire  of  ennui  1"  and  laughing, 
Brighty  hurried  away  to  escape  her  further  importunity. 

Then,  hastening  back  with  a  sudden  impulse,  she  caressed 
her— 

"  My  sweet  Louise,  I  am  grateful  for  all  your  love  aud 
goodness,  indeed  I  am  !  But  I  cannot  accept  it,  Louise  ! 
It  is  not  expedient  that  I  should  1" 

"  Oh,  Brighty,  if  you  would  be  persuaded,  I  should  be  so 
happy  I" 

"  You  will  be  happy,  Louise  I  you  are  happy  I  and  I  am 
•o  glad  to  witness  it.  There  is  Louis  !  Go  meet  him  I" 
»nd  Brighty,  disengaging  herself  from  the  embrace  of  Louiee, 
hastened  away — hastened  away  from  the  breakfast-room, 
where  this  conversation  took  place,  to  the  saloon  in  which 
most  of  the  guests  who  had  remained  all  night  were  assem- 
bled. 

Here  she  encountered  General  Stuart-Gordon,  who,  taking 
both  her  hands,  and  pressing  them,  looked  with  8  penatr*- 
ting  g«s»  in  htr  eyes,  and  began  to  tar— 


S10  THJB     MOTHJBi-IN-LAW. 

"Brighty  I" 

"  I  pennit  no  one  bnt  the  young  girls  of  my  acqialntanoe 
to  address  me  so  familiarly,  General  Stuart-Gordon  I"  said 
Brighty,  trying  to  withdraw  her  hands,  and  to  repress  the 
smile  that  would  gleam  out  from  under  her  long  eyelashes, 
and  flutter  in  the  corners  of  her  lips. 

"Au  rev&ir,  young  lady,"  said  the  mature  lover,  gayly, 
squeezing  both  her  hands  until  the  jeweled  rings  upon 
them  dented  his  fat  hands,  and  bowing  ceremoniously  he  let 
her  pass. 

General  Stuart-Gordon  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  that  re- 
pressed but  gleaming  smile,  and  it  was  wonderful  the  effect  I 
wonderful  how  lightly  stepped  about  that  heavy  man  !  how 
gayly  smiled  and  talked  that  grave  man  I — until  several 
matrons  in  the  saloon,  wishing  to  compliment  him  said — 

"The  marriage  of  your  son  restores  your  youth,  General 
Stuart-Gordon  1" 

A  piece  of  information  with  which  the  ungrateful  Genera, 
did  not  seem  to  be  particularly  delighted. 

"  This  popular  idea  of  growing  old  is  an  illusion,  Met- 
dames  1"  he  said.  "  'Age  Is  a  movable  feast.' " 

"A  movable  fast  rather,  General,"  replied  the  ladies, 
laughing. 

General  Stuart-Gordon  smiled,  bowed,  and  passed  out  to 
seek  his  daughter-in-law,  of  whom  he  was  beginning  to  grow 
very  fond. 

Britannia  had  hurried  off  to  the  bevy  of  girls  whom  the 
lored  well  enough  to  permit  to  call  her  "  Brighty." 

"Gertrude  Lion,  Zoe  Dove,  and  Susin  Somerville  were 
grouped  upon  their  favorite  crimson  sofa  in  the  recess  of 
the  bow-window  at  the  further  extremity  of  the  saloon. 
Mrs.  Armstrong  was  doing  the  honors  of  her  house  to  a 
group  of  elderly  ladies  assembled  in  the  front  of  the  room. 

At  this  moment  Louise  entered,  leaning  on  the  arm  of 
her  'tther  <«-law  and  looking  so  beautiful,  with  her  slightly 


YBB    B1TXLBRS.  Hi 


brightened  color,  her  radiant  blue  eyes,  and  her  fair 
plexion  and  petite  figure  set  off  to  the  best  advantage  by 
the  pale  bine  silk  of  her  morning-dress. 

Mrs.  Armstrong,  seeing  her  blithe  countenance,  grew 
black  in  the  face  and  muttered  to  herself, — 

"  This  it  is  to  have  a  fickle  and  ungrateful  child  I  Al- 
ready she  rejoices  at  the  near  prospect  of  leaving  her 
mother's  house  for  the  full  liberty  of  her  husband's." 

Mrs.  Armstrong,  in  her  blind  pride  and  jealousy,  failed 
to  reflect  that  she  herself  had  left  to  others  the  task  of  cul- 
tivating the  affections  of  her  child.  And,  indeed,  the  heart 
of  Louise  was  expanding  as  well  under  the  paternal  fond- 
ness of  General  Stuart-Gordon  as  in  the  warm  and  earnest 
affection  of  Louis. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do,  Brighty  ?"  inquired  the 
girls  as  Britannia  took  her  seat  with  them. 

"  I  do  not  know,  indeed  I  I  have  decided  on  nothing  aa 
yet,"  said  Brighty,  growing  serious  in  spite  of  herself. 

Susan  Somerville  had  not  joined  in  the  inquiry,  but  now 
she  looked  up  with  interest  upon  the  sobered  face  of 
Brighty,  and  passing  her  hand  once  or  twice  across  her 
own  pale  and  troubled  brow,  fell  into  thought. 

*  Miss  O'Riley — Brutus  and  myself  would  be  very  happy 
to  have  you  pass  some  months  with  us  at  The  Lair.  It  ii 
true  that  the  house-keeping  is  rather  topsy-turvy,  and  that 
the  old  garden  has  more  rocks,  brambles,  and  snakes  in  it 
than  flowers,  fruits,  or  birds ;  but  then  our  horses  are  the 
finest  in  the  country,  and  our  dogs  equal  them,"  said  the 
Gerfalcon,  with  a  blending  of  rudeness,  arrogance,  and 
courtesy  that  was  very  strange. 

Britannia  O'Riley  bowed  courteously ;  but,  before  she 
oonkl  decline  this  invitation,  Zoe  Dove  caught  her  hand 
and  exclaimed,  quite  breathlessly —  - 

44  No,  no !  no,  no !  come  to  the  Dovecote,  Brighty  The 
tauekeeping  there  is  first-rute.  Ton  shall  have  mj  littl* 


212  THI     MOTHEB-1N-LAW. 

chamber.  I  hare  just  made  a  nice  blue-and- white  quilt  foi 
the  bed,  and  I  will  sleep  on  a  pallet  in  father's  room." 

Britannia  took  her  hand  and  pressed  it  affectionately, 
Hud  then  said — 

"  I  thank  you  both  very  sincerely,  dear  girls ;  but  as  yet 
my  future  is  all  undetermined."  And  the  tears  swam  in 
Brighty's  eyes,  as  much  from  a  sense  of  wounded  pride  in 
the  thought  that  her  homeless  condition  had  moved  th« 
sympathy  of  these  girls,  as  from  an  emotion  of  gratitude 
for  their  kindness ;  and  then  she  thought  of  General  Stuart- 
Gordon  as  one  who  could  deliver  her  from  all  such  mortifi- 
cations in  the  present,  and  protect  her  from  their  return  in 
tho  future  ;  and  her  heart  warmed  toward  him  with  the 
grateful  but  unimpassioned  affection  that  the  young-loved 
sometimes  feel  for  the  aged-loving. 

Susan  Somerville  had  remained  silent ;  but  as  soon  aa 
ehe  got  an  opportunity  of  speaking  to  Brighty  unobserved, 
Bhe  said — 

"Will  you  come  to  iny  room  as  soon  as  you  can,  Miss 
O'Riley  7" 

"I  will  attend  you  there  now,  if  you  please,"  said 
Brighty. 

And  the  girls  rose  %nd  sought  the  apartment  of  Miss 
Somerville. 

As  soon  as  they  were  seated  by  the  quiet  little  wood  fire, 
Susan  again  passing  her  hand  over  her  brow,  like  one  who 
tries  to  dissipate  a  pertinacious  and  intensely  concentrated 
idea,  said  slowly,  and  in  a  broken  voice,  still  like  one  trying 
unsuccessfully  to  break  the  bondage  of  an  over-mastering 
thought,  and  give  attention  to  the  subject  in  hand — 

"Britannia,  after  these — these  wedding  festivities  art 
over,  come  with  me  to  The  Crags.  It  is  wild,  blasted,— 
not  nice  now ;  bat  it  will  be  better  in  the  spring  1"  And, 
without  waiting  for  an  answer,  Susan  relapsed  again  into 
tboight,  forgetting  that  ihe  had  given  the  invitation. 


THE     REVELERS.  213 

Brighty  had  penetrai  ed  her  secret.  She  gazed  on  that 
pale  and  altered  brow,  those  wasted  cheeks  and  hollow  eyes 
—eyes  grown  twice  their  natural  size  through  dilation  of 
their  pupils  and  the  emaciation  of  the  face — upon  that  col- 
lapsed and  quivering  frame,  and  turned  abruptly  away  to 
hide  the  tears  that  suffused  her  eyes.  Not  for  the  world, 
by  any  betrayal  of  her  own  sympathy,  would  she  have  vio- 
lated the  sanctuary  of  her  friend's  sacred  delicacy.  Re- 
covering her  own  composure  she  returned  to  Susan,  and, 
by  way  of  arousing  her,  took  her  hand  and  said  cheer- 
felly— 

"  I  thank  you,  dear  Susan,  and  I  accept  your  invitation 
very  gladly." 

"  It  is  a  dreary  waste — a  bleak,  desolate  scene,  Brighty ; 
but  it  has  the  advantage  of  healthfulness,"  observed  Susan, 
in  some  degree  recovering  herself. 

The  dinner-bell  rang,  and  the  young  ladies  separated  U 
arrange  their  dresses. 

I  had  occasion  to  tell  you  once  before,  that  wedding  fes- 
tivities in  the  country  parts  of  Maryland  and  Virginia  are 
conducted  on  quite  a  different  plan  to  that  adopted  in  fash- 
ionable city  circles. 

The  honeymoon,  usually  passed  in  solitude  by  fashionable 
city  bride  and  groom,  is  here  spent  in  a  round  of  dinner- 
parties, balls,  <fec.  It  is  an  occasion  of  merry-making  that 
quiet  country  people  seize  with  great  avidity  and  improve 
to  its  utmost  extent. 

Thus  oar  bride  and  bridegroom  were  kept  in  a  continual 
whirl  of  dissipation  for  five  weeks,  which  brought  April  be- 
fore they  were  finally  settled  io  their  beautiful  home  of  Hit 
Jile  of  Rajs. 

13 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THX     PORTRAIT 

Tiers  it  a  meekness  In  the  upturned  eyes, 
A  tearful  Instre— eueh  as  fancy  .'ends 
To  the  Madonna ;  and  a  wrapt  surprise, 
As  if  It  found  strange  beauty  In  the  air.— 

"  Now,  Susan,  when  we  have  breakfasted,  I  want  you  to 
•how  me  all  over  this  house ;  the  shut-up  old  drawing 
rooms,  and  the  dilapidated  old  bed-chambers ;  the  attics ; 
the  cupboards;  the  cuddies  and  all." 

"Dear  Britannia,  the  house  is  a  ruin." 

"  I  have  a  romantic  love  of  ruins." 

"  But,  dear  Brighty,  this  is  not  a  ruined  castle  or  manor 
house,  in  the  old  world,  but  simply  a  dilapidated  old  farm- 
house in  Virginia.  What  becomes  of  your  romance  ?" 

"Yet,  I  like  it ;  it  is  nearly  two  hundred  years  old  ;  it 
was  erected  in  a  time  full  of  adventure  ;  it  must  be  rich  in 
legendary  lore,  early  Indian  warfare,  French  warfare,  revo- 
lutionary heroism.  Anna,  you  take  an  ardent  interest  in 
the  heroism  and  adventures  of  the  past,  and  the  traditionary 
lore  of  Virginia  is  generally,  I  find,  preserved  in  the  old 
domestics  of  the  family.  Anna,  your  fathers  have  been  in 
the  service  of  the  Somervilles  for  more  than  a  hundred 
years ;  you  have  heard  from  your  father,  who  heard  from 
his  grandfather,  many  a  story ;  you  can  tell  us  of  some 
heroic  young  Somerviile  who  distinguished  himself  in  the 
frontier  war  with  the  savages;  of  some  yorng  Captain 
Bomerville,  who  raised  a  company  to  fight  against  the 
French ;  of  some  young  patriot  among  the  Somervillea, 
who,  after  achieving  miracles  of  valor,  fell  riddled  with 


THK     PORTRAIT.  215 

wounds  upon  the  field  of  victor)-.  You  can  teil  me  that, 
oh!  Anna." 

"  My  father  does,  indeed,  remember  many  anecdotes  of 
the  revolutionary  war,  and  is  well  acquainted  with  many 
stories  of  the  early  settlement  of  the  State ;  he  delights  to 
recall  and  repeat  them ;  it  would  give  him  pleasure  to  do 
•o,  Miss  O'Riley." 

"Very  well,  then,  Anna  ;  to-night,  after  we  have  sopped, 
we  will  have  a  blazing  hickory  fire  built  in  this  great  old 
chimney,  and  we  will  have  a  basket  of  nuts  and  apples,  and 
George  shall  come  in,  and  tell  us  tales  of  old  times,  like 
the  retainer  of  some  old  feudal  family,  who  delights  to  relate 
the  heroic  exploits  of  the  house." 

This  conversation  took  place  at  the  breakfast  table  at  The 
Crags,  upon  the  morning  after  the  arrival  of  Britannia 
O'Riley  with  Susan  Somerville,  and  six  weeks  from  the 
marriage  of  Louise  Armstrong. 

As  soon  as  the  young  ladies  arose  from  breakfast,  Brighty, 
with  a  wish  to  arouse  Susan  from  the  sad  reveries  into  which 
she  was  continually  relapsing,  again  renewed  her  desire  to 
be  shown  over  the  house. 

"  It  is  a  wreck,  Britannia — the  other  half  of  the  building ; 
a  mere  skeleton — a  shell.  It  is  even  dangerous  to  venture 
in  when  the  wind  is  so  high  as  it  is  now.  Beams  and  raften 
•ometimes  fall — old  window-shutters  blow  down — " 

"  Happily,  no  one  has  ever  been  injured  by  their  fall." 

"No — but  you  will  be  disappointed,  Brighty." 

"  It  will  serve  me  right,  then,  for  obstinacy.     Come. 

With  a  slight  expression  of  reluctance,  Susan  laid  aside 
her  knitting,  and  led  the  way  from  the  large  sitting-room 
into  a  wide,  bleak  hall,  into  which  the  wind  poured,  and 
through  which  it  roared,  seemingly  from  every  quarter, 
through  the  broken  plastering  and  gaping  timbers.  They 
crossed  this,  and  entered  a  large  apartment,  once  the  salooa 
•f  the  aooae,  bat  now  much  dilapidated  aid  rudely 


1,6  THI     MOTHKR-IN-LJLW. 

"Thia  was  once  the  saloon;  and,  on  festive  occasions, 
was  brilliantly  lighted  up,  and  filled  with  distinguished 
guests.  Now  you  see  what  it  is;  it  serves  at  once  the 
threefold  purpose  of  kitchen,  workshop,  and  bedroom  for 
«y  old  foster-parents." 

Brighty  surveyed  the  old  and  extensive  apartment  with 
Interest.  It  was  a  mixture  of  departed  grandeur  and  pres- 
ent poverty.  The  lofty  windows  at  both  extremities  of  the 
room  had  been  broken  up,  and  were  rudely  repaired  ;  the 
places  of  some  missing  panes  of  glass  had  been  supplied  ; 
some  by  pine  shingles,  some  by  tin  plates,  and  some  by 
pasted  paper  ;  but  all  was  clean.  The  great  arch  that,  after 
the  manner  of  most  old  Virginian  mansions,  divided  the 
apartment  in  the  middle,  had  been  broken  in  many  places. 
In  the  back  part  of  the  room  was  a  large  arched  fireplace, 
whose  marble  mantelpiece  was  covered  with  rude  wooden 
candlesticks,  and  hung  above  with  wooden  ladles,  spoons, 
bowls,  &c.,  carved  by  George.  On  each  side  of  this  fire- 
place were  rough  shelves,  put  up  by  George,  and  laden  with 
the  commonest  delf-ware  and  pottery.  Harriet  was  stand- 
ing at  one  of  these  shelves,  washing  up  her  breakfast 
things. 

Half  way  down  the  middle  of  the  long  room,  and  against 
the  end  of  the  arch,  was  a  rough  work-bench,  with  a  pile  of 
flags  on  one  side,  and  a  pile  of  bottomless  chairs  on  the 
>ther.  George  was  sitting  there,  engaged  in  putting  a  new 
>0ttom  into  an  old  chair. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  arch,  and  at  the  farthest  e*> 
jfemity  of  the  room,  was  an  humble  bedstead,  cnrtained 
nth  blue  check,  and  a  poor  old-fashioned  chest  of  drawers, 
with  a  sloping  lid. 

OL  1  those  memorials  of  old  times,  how  dear  they  were 
to  the  poor  family  J 

On  the  other  »ld«  of  this  chest  of  drawers  WM  a  large 


TH1      PORTRAIT.  217 

itock  of  baskets,  mats,  and  children's  little  chairs,  made  of 
flags,  by  George. 

Britannia  took  all  this  in  by  one  sweeping  glance.  Sh« 
had  seen  Harriet  several  times  since  her  arrival,  but  not 
George.  Now  she  went  up  to  George,  and  held  out  her 
hand  to  shake  hands  with  him.  Brighty  had  a  thorough 
respect  for  honest  George.  George  lifted  the  old  white  felt 
hat  he  habitually  wore,  and  stood  up  to  speak  to  the  young 
lady.  Miss  O'Riley  examined  and  praised  the  neatness  of 
his  work,  ordered  a  work-basket,  and  then  followed  Susan 
Somerville  from  the  room. 

"  George  supports  us  all  by  flag-work.  Our  land,  the 
little  of  it  that  is  left,  is  entirely  worn  out.  We  can  scarcely 
raise  vegetables  and  grain  and  fruit  enough  for  our  own 
small  family  consumption.  But  George  has  taken  up  this 
trade  of  flag- work,  and  contrives  to  make  a  living  by  it." 

Then  they  crossed  &  short  passage,  and  entered  a  room, 
once  the  large  dining-room  of  the  family,  now  a  depository 
for  sacks  of  corn,  barrels  of  apples,  bags  of  wool,  hanks  ot 
yarn,  <fcc.,  and  then  passed  through  several  ruined  apart- 
ments, and  returning  to  the  wide  hall,  went  up  the  broad 
staircase  to  the  second  story.  After  having  gone  through 
nearly  the  whole  range  of  upper  rooms,  "  Now,"  said  Susan, 
"  I  will  take  you  into  my  chamber." 

She  then  conducted  Brighty  into  a  large  room,  in  which 
was  a  tall  tent-bedstead  in  an  arched  alcove,  and  near  it  a 
cot-bed.  This  room  had  neither  carpet  nor  curtains,  but 
the  walls  were  literally  covered  with  old  family  portraits,  all 
of  them  faded,  tarnished,  and  unfit  to  be  seen— that  is,  all 
were  so,  with  the  exception  of  one,  which  looked  fresh  and 
modern. 

"Ah  I  you  are  looking  at  my  pictures,  Brighty  1  Well, 
Viey  too  are  wrecks,  but  I  have  not  the  heart  to  throw  them 
away.  They  are  unpresentable — therefore  I  keep  them  in 
ay  chamber !" 


418  THE     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

Brighty  was,  in  fact,  going  from  one  picture  to  the  other, 
examining  them  with  an  artist's  interest.  She  paused  befor* 
one  ;  it  was  the  fresh  and  modern-looking  portrait  of  which 
we  spoke.  It  was  the  portrait  of  a  young,  beautiful  girl, 
with  a  dark,  bright  complexion,  large,  soft,  dark  eyes,  and 
rippling  black  hair,  flowing  down  in  wavelets  on  her  neck 
and  bosom.  Brighty  gazed  on  this  picture  with  surprise, 
with  deep  interest. 

"  Here  is  a  portrait,  at  least,  that  would  grace  your  dt- 
ting-room,  Susan  I" 

"That!  yes — but — " 

"Well?" 

"  Nothing,"  replied  Susan,  with  some  embarrassment. 

Britannia  was  suddenly  silent,  fearing  that  she  had  com- 
mitted she  knew  not  what  indiscretion,  by  asking  questions. 
Susan  perceived  this,  and  hastened  to  say — 

"  It  is  the  portrait  of  Genevieve,  my  father's  youngest 
sister.  She  died  young,  and  her  death  was  sudden — tragi- 
cal. My  grandfather  cannot  bear  to  hear  her  name  men- 
tioned. He  has  not  seen  her  picture  for  fifteen  years." 

"  I  am  sorry,  Susan,  that  I  recalled  this  circumstance  to 
yonr  recollection,"  said  Brighty  with  interest  "And  yet, 
what  a  strangely  beautiful  face  1  it  is  a  study,  I  should  like 
to  copy  it." 

"  I  rembember  her — nothing  like  that  portrait — I  remem- 
ber her  as  one  recollects  a  bad  dream.  She  was  pale,  thin, 
nervous,  and  wild  looking.  She  died  at  sixteen,  when  I 
was  three  years  old.  Now,  Brighty,  yon  are  welcome  to 
copy  the  portrait,  but  on  these  conditions — that  you  do  it 
in  this  room, — that  you  never  show  the  copy  to  any  one  ii 
the  State,  and  that  you  never  mention  her  name  or  allude  to 
nor  fate  after  to-day." 

"I  promise  with  all  my  heart." 

"  This  was  her  room,"  continued  Susan,  throwing  open  • 
•eeond  door.  "Bat  who  would  have  thought  of  such  • 


THE     POETBAIT.  219 

picture  and  such  a  story  in  this  house,  Susan  ?"  asked 
Brighty. 

"  Every  house  has  its  skeleton,  Britannia ;  and  I  fear  no 
house  ever  stood  fifty  years  without  its  tragedy  I"  and  Susaa 
shuddered. 

41  You  are  cold,  Susan.  I  have  been  selfish  in  dragging 
you  .through  all  these  passages  and  staircases,  full  of 
draughts.  Come,  we  will  go  down.1'  And  the  girls  de- 
•cended  to  the  sitting-room. 

Faithfully  determined  to  persevere  in  drawing  Susan  from 
her  abstraction,  and  forcing  her  to  occupy  herself,  even 
when  seemingly  seeking  only  her  own  selfish  amusement, 
Britannia  adhered  to  her  plans  for  their  evenings. 

As  soon  as  the  cloth  was  removed  from  the  supper-table, 
Brighty,  making  herself  at  home,  ordered  a  liberal  supply 
of  the  heaviest  hickory  logs,  and  herself  superintended  the 
piling  upon  the  great  iron  fire-dogs.  Oh  1  Brighty  was  an 
artist  in  the  smallest  matter,  and  she  perfectly  subscribed 
to  the  Virginian  adage,  that  "  a  good  fire  is  a  handsome 
piece  of  furniture."  And  a  wonderful  fire  soon  crackled, 
blazed,  and  roared  up  the  chimney.  •  And  then  the  old  sofa 
was  drawn  up  on  one  side  of  the  fireplace,  and  two  or  three 
chairs  on  the  other  side,  and  the  table  with  the  lamp  on  it 
wheeled  to  the  middle.  And  then  Brighty,  fixing  Susan 
with  her  knitting  on  the  end  of  the  sofa  nearest  the  table, 
•eated  herself  by  her  side,  and  sent  Anna  to  summon  George 
to  bring  in  his  flag-work  and  his  legendary  learning. 
George  soon  appeared,  bringing  in  his  hands  a  half-finished 
basket  and  a  bundle  of  flags,  and  drawing  a  stool  to  the 
opposite  side  of  the  fireplace  from  the  sofa,  sat  down  ana 
prepared  to  commence. 

And  thus  the  group  around  the  hearth  sat : — 

On  the  old  sofa  on  the  left  sat  Susan  and  Britannia, 
Anna  occupying  a  low  seat  by  the  side  of  Miss  Somerville, 
with  her  hand  resting  affectionately  on  her  lap.  On  th« 


220  TEX     MOTHIB-IW-LAW. 

opposite  side  old  Harriet  sat,  with  a  reel  by  her  side,  win  i- 
Ing  yarn  ;  George  by  her  on  a  low  cricket  singling  ont  h?i 
•trip  of  flags.  The  table  with  the  lamp  dividing  the  two 
little  groups. 

"  Well,  we  are  all  ready,"  said  Brighty.    "  Come,  begin." 

"Hem  1  hem-m-m  !"  commenced  George,  laying  away  bii 
white  felt  hat.  "  Hem-m-m  !  you  see,  Miss,  when  this  part 
of  the  country  was  fust  settled " 

"  Hash !" 

"  Ma'am  ?» 

"  Some  one  rapped,"  said  Brighty. 

"It  was  the  wind,"  said  Anna. 

"  It  was  the  rats,"  said  Harriet. 

"You  must  expect  to  hear  strange  noises  about  this 
house,  Brighty — not  that  it  is  haunted,  but  that  it  is  old, 
and  filled  with  rats  and  mice,  and  exposed  to  the  winds." 

"  Go  on  George,"  commanded  Brighty. 

"  Hem-m-m  I  Well,  you  see,  Miss,  when  this  part  of  tht 
country  was  fust  settled,  the  Injius — " 

"  Rat-tat- tat-tat-te-r-r-r !" 

There  was  no  doubt  upon  the  subject  now.  The  short, 
sharp,  rasping  rap  of  the  metal  head  of  a  riding  whip  against 
the  door  arrested  George's  legend,  and  startled  everybody. 
George  laid  aside  bis  baskets  and  went  to  the  door. 

"  Who  can  it  be,  this  time  of  night  ?"  asked  Brighty. 

"  We  are  just  about  to  see,"  replied  Susan. 

George  opened  the  door,  threw  it  wide  open,  and  an- 
nounced— 

"General  Stuart-Gordon." 

All  arose  to  their  feet.  Britannia  crimsoned — with 
pleasure,  I  fancy.  Miss  Somerville  advanced  with  quiet 
eour'"esy  to  welcome  her  visitor — while  George,  gathering 
up  his  flags,  and  Harriet,  taking  up  her  reel,  withdrew  ^iti 
Anna  from  the  room. 


THI     POBTBAIT.  221 

"  Have  you  supped,  General  ?"  inquired  Miss  Somcrville 
u  soon  as  her  guest  was  seated. 

General  Stuart-Gordon  was  about  to  reply  in  the  affirm- 
ative, and  to  beg  that  his  young  hostess  would  not  give 
herself  any  tiouble — but,  impelled  by  a  second  thought,  he 
replied — 

"  I  have  not,  Miss  Somerville ;  and  as  I  have  had  a 
rather  long  and  cold  ride,  I  will  feel  particularly  obliged 
for  a  cup  of  your  excellent  tea.  And,  Susan,  my  dear! 
perpare  it  yourself.  I  have  a  lively  and  grateful  recollec- 
tion of  the  tea  you  made  for  us  at  the  Isle." 

Smiling  faintly  at  the  reminiscence,  Susan  arose  and  left 
the  room. 

General  Stuart-Gordon  immediately  left  his  seat,  and, 
crossing  before  the  fire,  took  that  next  to  Brighty  on  the 
sofa,  took  her  hands  in  both  his,  and  bending  forward 
sought  to  meet  her  eyes.  At  last  she  raised  her  eyes  and 
met  bis  glance. 

"Well,  Britannia  1" 

"  Well,  General." 

"It  is  a  blustering  night." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"More  like  the  middle  of  March  than  the  middle  of 
April." 

"I  agree  with  you,  General." 

"  Britannia,  I  have  had  a  very  cold  ride  facing  the  wind 
•p  this  bleak  ascent." 

"  I  regret  it,  sir." 

"  Then  prevent  its  frequent  recurrence,  Brighty." 

She  was  silent. 

"How  many  more  such  rides  shall  I  have  to  taka 
Brighty?" 

She  did  not  reply. 

"  Britannia,  I  am  more  desolate  than  ever  Instead  of 
gaining  a  daughter  by  the  marriage  of  Louis,  I  have  lo*t  a 


221  THI     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

•on.  I  once  had  the  company  of  Lonis.  Now  my  son  and 
daughter-in-law,  absorbed  in  their  own  loves  and  j>ys — the 
egotists  ! — forget  my  very  existence.  They  spend  long  houri 
in  their  own  apartments,  or,  coming  out,  wander  hand  in 
hand  like  two  children,  all  over  the  Isle.  The  gardener  and 
his  hands  are  breaking  up  the  soil  and  trimming  the  rose- 
bushes and  shrubs  and  vines  of  the  gardens,  and  Louis  and 
Louise,  hand  in  hand,  as  I  said,  superintend  their  work. 
Then  they  ride  out  together,  read  together,  play  check  to- 
gether, and  involuntarily  look  annoyed  if  any  person  inno- 
cently wishes  to  make  a  third  in  their  diversions  ?" 

"  But,  General,  be  reasonable  ;  consider  that  this  poor  little 
Bride  and  bridegroom  have  been  tantalized  to  death  with 
company  for  six  weeks  past,  have  scarcely  had  a  moment 
to  themselves  in  which  to  cultivate  each  other's  acquaintance. 
Be  generous  and  indulge  them,"  smiled  Brighty,  who  could 
reply  to  anything  except  the  point  at  issue. 

"  Very  well !  Agreed.  Let  them  amuse  themselves.  I 
do  not  complain  of  that !  But,  in  the  mean  time,  I  am  not 
enchanted  with  the  delights  of  my  own  solitude." 

"You  should  read  a  sermon  on  contentment,  General." 

"  Britannia !"  he  said,  pressing  both  her  hands  in  both 
of  his  own ;  "  Britannia,  have  I  misunderstood  your  kind- 
ness toward  me  for  the  last  month  ?  If  so,  Brighty,  1  will 
not  press  upon  you  a  suit  that  may  be  very  unwelcome — the 
•nit  of  a  man  past  middle  age;  for,  above  all  things, 
Brighty,  I  wish  to  secure  your  happiness.  I  had  dreamed 
to  have  secured  it  with  my  own.  Let  it  pass — it  was  but  a 
dream,  Brighty." 

"General  Stuart-Gordon." 

"  I  have  misunderstood  yon." 

"  General  Stuart-Gordon,  if  you  have  understood  me  to 
be  coldly  disregardful  of  your  friendship,  callously  ungrate- 
ful for  your  kindness  to  me,  l\en  you  have  misunderstood 


THE     PORTRAIT.  228 

"  Britannia !  do  I  comprehend  you  ?  Is  it  possible,  then, 
tbftt  you  can  love — " 

"  General,  I  did  not  talk  of  love." 

"  Oh,  Britannia  I" 

"You  do  not  love  me." 

"  Britannia,  I  assure  you — " 

"You  are,  probably,  past  the  age  jf  loving  me." 

"  Miss  O'Riley— " 

"  Or  perhaps  you  should  be." 

"  Miss  O'Riley,  I  affirm  that  this  is  very  cool  on  your 
part." 

General  Stuart-Gordon,  have  patience  with  me ;  you  will 
be  better  pleased  when  I  have  concluded.  It  is  certain  that 
you  do  not  love  me,  and  I  am  constitutionally  incapable  of 
falling  in  love  with  anybody  ;  and  therefore  it  is  that  I 
can  ring  the  changes  on  this  word  without  embarrassment." 

"  Madam  1 " 

"But  you  are  lonesome — listless.  You  expect  to  live 
some  thirty  years  in  the  world  yet,  and  you  do  not  wish  to 
pass  that  time  either  in  solitude,  or,  what  is  quite  as  bad, 
with  a  young  couple  who  are  quite  too  much  taken  up  with 
each  other  to  attend  to  you.  You  want  a  companion  who 
shall  be  handsome,  cheerful,  witty,  elegant,  and  who  shall 
be  your  ovm,  and  happy  in  that  condition." 

"You  are  a  singular  girl." 

"  Very  singular  in  some  matters,  General  1 — uniqw  even ! 

But  to  return  to  the  subject ;  do  you  expect  th&,  want  ol 
fours  to  be  met  ?" 

"  A  companion,  yonng,  handsome,  witty,  gay,  elegant, 
and  happy  as  the  wife  of  an  elderly  man  ?  No,  Britannia ! 
You  have  convinced  me.  It  was  an  unreasonable  wish ; 
yet,  of  that  presumption  I  have  been  guilty.  No,  Brighty, 
fchat  want  will  never  be  supplied — that  companion  never 
b«  found." 

"Then  I  suppose  you  consider  me  as  a  poor 


114  THE     MOTH1B-I14-LJLW. 

for  inch  a  prodigy  T"  said  Brighty,  smiling,  and  av 
her  face. 

"  Britannia  1  Britannia  I  yon  are  more  than  all  yon  have 
described  as  my  dream — brilliantly  beautiful,  sparklingly 
witty,  of  queenly  elegance,  and  in  the  first  bloom  of  your 
youth— but  Brighty!  dear  Brighty  I  yon  could  not  be 
happy,  (that  is  the  requisite) — you  could  not  be  happy  with 
me — could  not  love  me  1" 

"I  am  not  in  love  with  you,  General  Stuart-Gordon,  any 
more  than  you  are  with  me  ;  pray  do  not  insist  upon  ray 
being  so.  It  would  be  no  compliment  to  yon." 

"No  compliment  to  me  I" 

11  No  sir !  I  only  love  when  I  pity  and  protect !  Do 
you  want  me  to  pity  and  protect  you  ?  I  love  your  soft 
Louise,  the  gentle  little  Zoe,  the  quiet,  simple  Susan  So- 
merville.  I  love  enough  for  my  happiness.  I  have  a 
greater  want  than  that.  It  is  to  respect,  admire,  esteem  1 
It  is  not  necessary  to  my  peace  that  I  should  be  in  love 
with  the  gentleman  who  gives  me  his  name — it  is  indispen- 
sable that  I  shall  be  able  to  honor  him— that  I  shall  be 
proud  of  him !" 

"And  I  then,  Britannia?" 

"  I  honor  you,  General  Stuart-Gordon  !" 

"  And  I— -love  yon,  Brighty  I— love  you— but  I  will  not 
lacrifice  you  1" 

And  he  drew  her  to  his  bosom,  and  kissed  her  tenderly, 
and,  rising,  walked  away. 

With  his  hands  clasped  behind  his  back,  with  bis  head 
bowed  upon  lis  breast,  he  slowly  and  thoughtfully  paced  up 
and  down  the  room,  heaving  great  sighs.  At  last  he  walked 
back  toward  her,  took  the  seat  by  her  side,  took  both  b«i 
hands  again  in  both  of  his,  and  bent  forward,  seeking  hei 
eyes  again.  She  averted  them,  while  a  deep  blush  over- 
spread bet  face.  Tet  sht  did  not  withdraw  her  hand*, 


THE     PORTRAIT.  225 

which  he  continued  to  press.  He  spoke  again,  in  deep, 
Berious,  and  earnest  tones — and  he  said — 

"  Britannia,  I  want  you  to  be  serious,  and  listen  to  me,, 
my  dear,  for  /  am  very  serious.  Two  months  ago,  I  ad-- 
mired you,  and  told  you  so.  I  loved  you,  Britannia,  bat 
dared  not  tell  you  so— dared  not  expose  my  earnest  anc 
deroted  affection  to  your  girlish  scorn  ;  for,  Britanni^ 
there  is  a  sad,  sorrowful  diffidence  in  the  love  of  the  old  foi 
the  young — and  therefore,  Britannia,  I  offered  you  my  hand, 
without  speaking  of  my  heart.  I  laid  my  name,  rank,  and 
fortune,  at  your  feet,  and  thought  that,  by  investing  you 
with  all  my  possessions,  by  surrounding  you  with  every 
elegance  and  luxury  that  wealth  could  procure,  that  I  might 
gecnre  your  happiness,  and,  with  your  society,  my  own  hap- 
piness— I  offered  you  my  hand,  and  you  refused  it !" 

"I  would  not  marry  only  for  wealth  and  rank,  General." 

"I  thought  that  a  delicate,  elegant,  and  refined  girl,  like 
jou,  would  set  a  due  value  upon  the  splendors  and  luxuries 
of  life,  and  yet  you  refused  me." 

"I  would  not  marry  only  for  splendor  and  luxury,  General." 

"  I  thought,  also,  that  a  sensible  girl  like  you,  seeing  her- 
gelf  alone  and  unprotected  in  the  world,  would  see  the  ex- 
pediency of  a  prudent  marriage,  and  yet  you  refused  me." 

"  Because  I  would  not  marry  for  prudence,  alias  policy, 
alias  selfiskness,  General  Stuart-Gordon  1" 

"  You  refused  me,  Britannia,  and  I  did  not  press  my  suit — 
did  not  press  it,  because,  as  I  said,  there  is  a  diffidence  in  the 
unselfish  love  of  age,  that  youth  does  not  even  know.  Brighty, 
had  I  been  younger  by  twenty  years,  I  should  not  so  readily 
bare  resigned  you.  For  Brighty,  I  loved  you,  loved  you.  I 
wished  for  your  constant  presence — I  wished  for  your  undi- 
rided  affection ;  but  more  than  all  this,  Brighty,  I  wished 
for  your  happiness  ;  and  seeing  your  aversion  to  marrying 
an  old  man,  I  refrained  from  persecuting  you  with  my  ad- 
dresses. Now,  hear  me,  Brighty.  Within  the  last  month 


226  THE     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

you  have  seemed  to  have  a  softer  cadence  in  your  roice,  a 
softer  light  in  your  eyes,  as  you  looked  at  or  spoke  to  me. 
This  gave  me  new  hopes — nay,  hear  me  out,  dear  Bntannia 
—and  I  came  here  this  morning,  full  of  foolish  confidence, 
with  the  design  of  renewing  my  offer.  Stay,  stay,  Britannia, 
and  hear  me  out.  I  came  here  to  renew  my  offer ;  I  see 
the  repugnance  it  excites,  and,  Brighty,  I  withdraw.  Do 
not  believe/  my  dear,  that  I  would  annoy  you.  But,  Brighty, 
since  I  have  been  sitting  here,  I  have  thought  of  another 
plan.  Brighty  you  are  alone  in  the  world,  without  the  love 
of  mother  or  sister,  without  the  protection  of  father  or  bro- 
ther ;  and  with  your  rare  beauty  and  refined  tastes,  you 
are  exposed  to  all  the  dangers  and  hardships  of  a  homeless 
and  unsettled  life.  Brighty,  listen  to  me,  my  dear.  I  have 
no  daughter  or  sister  ;  I  shall  have  no  wife,  since  you  refuse 
me;  I  have  no  female  relative  at  all — and,  Brighty,  I  want 
one.  Since  you  cannot  be  my  wife,  be  my  daughter,  Brighty. 
Forget  that  I  ever  dreamed  of  any  other  relation  between 
us,  and  be  my  daughter,  Brighty.  I  will  regularly  and  le- 
gally adopt  you.  You  shall  come  home  to  the  Isle,  and  live 
with  Louise,  who  loves  you.  Will  you  be  my  daughter, 
Brighty  ?» 

"  No,  General  Stuart-Gordon." 

"  What !  not  even  my  daughter,  Brighty  f* 

"  No,  General  Stuart-Gordon— but— " 

"  Well  ?» 

Britannia  turned  her  blushing  face  quite  away  from  him, 
as  she  held  out  her  hand.  He  carried  it  to  his  lips. 

"  Well,  Brighty  ?" 

"But—" 

"Well?" 

"  I  will  be  your  urife,  if  you  will  take  a  wayward  girl, 
whose  pride  and  petulance  makes  her  quite  unworthy  of  you." 

"My  own  dear  Brighty — my  darling,  sparkling  treasure i 
Tom — but  how  can  you  love  me,  Brighty  f " 


THE     PORTRAIT.  227 

And  again,  with  that  eager,  anxious,  scrutinizing  gaze, 
DC  sought  the  eye  of  Britannia.  She  turned  her  head  away, 
saying  softly — 

"  Do  not  look  at  me  so  closely,  for  I  wish  to  be  frank 
with  you,  sir,  because  I  owe  it  to  you,  and  I  shall  not  have 
courage  to  say  all  that  is  on  my  heart,  if  you  look  at  me  so." 

"There,  then,  Brighty.  Now  tell  me,  do  you  love  me, 
can  you  love  me,  Brighty  ?  Ah,  I  am  so  anxious  upon  that 
point,  dear  Britannia." 

Britannia  answered  in  a  low,  trembling,  but  persevering 
voice. 

"I  know  you  are  anxious,  because  you  are  doubtful,  sir; 
therefore,  I  force  myself  to  speak.  Yes,  General  Stuart- 
Gordon,  I  do  esteem  you.  Do  not  think  I  would  accept 
the  high  destiny  you  offer  me,  without.  You  are  covered 
with  military  glory,  and  I  honor  you  for  that.  I  am  proud 
of  you  for  that.  I  shall  be  proud  to  bear  your  name — to 
be  your  wife.  You  are  the  first — the  only  one  who  has 
ever  opened  the  shelter  of  his  heart  to  give  me  a  home  there, 
ind  I  am  grateful,  deeply  grateful  for  it,  sir." 

"Yet,  Britannia,  my  dearest  child,  esteem,  honor,  pride, 
gratitude,  are  not  love  " 

"  And  I  would  not  rnarry  for  these  only,"  said  Brighty,  in 
a  very  low  voice. 

"Then  you  do  love  me,  Brighty?"  said  the  General, 
holding  her  hands,  and  bending  forward  to  read  her 
countenance 

Now  she  turned  the  fufl  light  of  her  radiant  face  upon 
him,  and  looked  up  clearly,  as  she  replied — 

"My  only  friend  and  benefactor,  at  least  I  have  no  one 
but  you  to  love." 

"Alas,  it  is  necessity,  not  choice,  then  Brighty  I" 

"You  have  no  peer,  in  my  estimation,  General  Stuart 
Gordon." 

"Then  why  did  you  refuse  me,  Brighty?" 


828  THE     M  OTHER-  IN-LAW. 

"Prom  a  little  pride  and  petulance,  from  a  little  donbt 
of  the  reality  and  permanence  of  your  affection  for  me." 

"Ob,  Britannia!" 

"Sir,  I  have  faults,  very  serious  faults;  I  know  them 
too  well.  But,  alas,  self-knowledge  does  not  help  me  to 
lelf-improveraent.  I  am  proud,  vain,  high-spirited,  and  ex- 
travagant ;  yet,  in  my  heart,  I  do  love  humility,  meekness, 
and  moderation ;  yet,  with  all  my  faults,  I  am  sincere  and 
grateful ;  and  at  least  I  bring  you  a  true  and  single  heart, 
Bir." 

"Your  faults  !  my  dearest  Brighty  I  I  love  you  just  as 
you  *re,  my  frank,  ingenuous  Brighty.  I  love  you  for  just 
what  you  are." 

Five  minutes  after  this,  Susan  Somerville  entered  the 
room,  followed  by  George,  bearing  the  tea-tray.  And  Gen- 
eral Stuart-Gordon  took  his  tea,  and  shortly  after  took  hi« 
IMIVC,  tenderly  shaking  the  hand  of  Susan,  and  fervently 
f  *ssing  that  of  Britannia. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

SPRING    AT    THE    ISLE    OP    RAYS. 

Spring  with  it*  rosebnda  !— Spring; 

The  gladdest  time  in  the  capricions  year, 

With  its  gre«n  foliage,  and  its  sunlight  clear, 

And  with  a  drowsy  tnne 
Of  the  bright  leaping  waters  as  they  pan 
Laughingly  on  amid  the  listening  grass.— IT.  //   Burlty 

On  The  Isle  of  Rays  in  Spring!  It  was  A  scene  nur« 
tnchanting  than  a  poet's  dream  of  Eden — a  Mussulman*! 
Tigion  of  Paradise.  It  was  an  elysium  of  beauty,  music,  and 
fragrance.  It  was  a  rapture  merely  to  Btand  there  in  thf 


•  FBIVft    AT    THE    IBL1    OF    BAYS.     229 

morning's  silvery  flood,  and  breathe,  though  every  other 
feculty  were  suspended. 

It  was  a  heaven  of  beauty.  The  mansion,  with  its  white 
freestone  walls,  and  its  piazzas  above  and  below,  supported 
by  the  light  and  elegant  white  marble  pillars  of  the  Corinth- 
ian style  of  architecture.  Its  terraces,  with  its  beautiful 
•hade-trees  dropping  shadows  on  the  fresh  and  dewy  grass ; 
its  parterres  of  flowers,  of  every  form  and  hue ;  it*  lawn, 
with  serpentine  walks  and  meandering  streams — with  grovel 
of  trees  and  vine-clad  arbors — with  the  black  shadows  of  it* 
rocks,  and  the  bright  flashing  of  its  waters,  leaping,  spark- 
ling, and  glancing  in  the  sunshine — radiating  streams  of 
dazzling  light.  "The  Isle  of  Light!  The  Isle  of  Sun- 
beams 1  The  Isle  of  Hays !"  would  break  inspired  from 
the  lips  of  the  spectator. 

It  was  a  heaven  of  music,  when  the  full,  rich  diapason  of 
Nature's  morning  hymn  was  sounding  there,  from  the  lowest 
notes — the  almost  inaudible  murmur  of  a  foliage-hidden 
stream,  and  the  whispered  confidences  of  the  breeze  wooing 
the  leaves — to  the  clear,  rippling,  ringing  song  of  the  rivu- 
let, and  the  shouting  laughter  of  the  cataract ;  and  from 
the  harmony  of  the  bee,  beguiling  the  flowers,  to  the  grand 
harmonic  chorus  of  a  thousand  birds,  breaking  out  in  their 
rapture,  till  all  the  sun-bright  air  above  seemed  shattering 
with  silvery  sound,  and  the  particles  falling  around  you  in 
a  rain  of  radiant  light  and  music.  "  The  Isle  of  Harmony  I 
The  Isle  of  Music  ?"  a  blind  one  wou.d  exclaim,  in  delight. 

And  it  was  an  elysium  of  the  breath  of  millions  of  flowers. 
The  delicate  perfume  of  the  violet,  the  fine  fragrance  of  the 
lily,  and  the  rich  aroma  of  the  rose,  mingled  with  the  in- 
toxicating odors  of  the  rarest  exotics,  filling  with  sweotneeg 
the  sun-lit  and  music-freighted  atmosphere  of  thii  Isle  of 
Fragrance! 

The  Isle  of  Rayi !  The  Isle  of  Mode !  The  lilt  of 
Fragrance !  The  elysium  of  beauty,  melody,  and  perfomt  I 
14 


230  THE     MOTHER-IN -LA.  W. 

It  was  a  rapture  to  stand  and  receive  all  this  flood  of  beauty 
harmony,  and  fragrance  ! 

And  Louis  and  Louise  wandered  through  its  groves  ani 
gardens,  like  another  Adara  and  Eve  through  another  Eden. 
And  it  delighted  Louis  to  see  how  Louise  reveled  in  th« 
light  of  her  new  liberty.  At  last  the  elasticity  of  youth  had 
thrown  off"  the  pressure  of  long  habits  of  restraint.  Her 
itep  became  so  free,  so  light,  so  fleet ;  the  tones  of  her 
roice  so  high,  clear,  and  cheerful ;  her  laughter  so  gay  and 
ringing  I  And,  oh  I  Louis  loved  her  more  and  more,  for 
everv  good  his  love  had  brought  her  !  He  had  feared  that 
the  long-fettered  mind,  the  long-repressed  affections  of  his 
fittle  bride,  would  never  escape  from  their  captivity — never 
throw  off  their  chains.  But  it  was  wonderful — delightful — 
how  soon  Louise  cast  off  the  habit  of  restraint !  How  soon 
she  chipped  the  shell,  and  fluttered  out  a  jubilant  and  full- 
fledged  singing  bird !  How  soon  she  emerged  from  the 
chrysalis,  and  flew  off  a  joyous,  radiant  butterfly  I  And 
how  she  loved  Louis,  as  one  who  had  given  her  freedom,  hap- 
piness— new  life  1  And  how  Louis  loved  her  !  How  deeply, 
how  profoundly  ;  how  much  more  deeply,  how  much  more 
profoundly,  as  he  saw  her  gladden  and  brighten  in  the  light 
of  his  love !  It  was  now  that  the  depth  and  strength  of 
his  devotion  to  Louise  was  revealing  to  him  the  greatness  of 
his  own  soul.  He  saw  her  happy  in  his  affection — happy 
through  his  means — and  he  felt  in  his  profonndest  heart, 
that  were  the  sacrifice  of  his  life — yea,  of  his  soul — demanded 
as  the  price  of  her  happiness,  it  would  be  made.  Sometimes 
he  even  regretted  that  every  good  she  enjoyed  was  so  readily 
at  hand,  that  he  was  not  required  to  toil  for  her.  There  is 
an  intensity  of  idolatry  in  some  love  that  cannot  be  ex- 
pr3ssed  but  by  suffering  for  the  beloved.  This  may  be  excesa 
— insanity — fanaticism — or  it  may  be  profonndest  religion  ; 
but  it  is  truth — truth  on  earth.  The  deepest  love  cannot  bt 
Mfafted  but  by  tu/ering  for  the  toelfare  of  the  Waved,. 


SPBING     AT     THE     ISLE     OF    BAYS.      231 

The  bve  of  Louis  for  his  bride  was  intense — profound- 
powerful.  The  love  of  Louise  for  her  husband  was  onlj 
grateful,  glad,  and  confiding.  That  was  the  difference  be* 
tween  them. 

This  was  the  under-current  of  feeling  on  both  sides 
Superficially  they  appeared  like  two  children,  wandering 
through  the  groves,  or  sitting  together  in  the  bowers,  of 
The  Isle  of  Rays.  And  the  countenance  of  Louis  would 
radiate  joy,  as  his  dancing  eyes  would  follow  the  flying  feet 
of  Louise,  when  she  would  spring  from  his  side  to  chase  a 
bird  or  pluck  a  flower.  That  changed  Louise !  whom  he 
remembered  pacing  in  slow,  lady-like  steps  through  the  lofty, 
cold  halls  of  Mont  Crystal !  The  enfranchised  spirit  of 
Louise  electrified  even  the  grave  old  General,  who  would 
sometimes  catch  his  little  daughter-in-law  up  in  bis  arms 
and  toss  her  until  she  laughed  aloud  ! 

But  for  the  most  part  General  Stuart-Gordon  had  the 
good  taste  to  withdraw  himself  from  the  company  of  these 
newly-wedded  lovers.  Sometimes  by  shutting  himself  up  in 
his  library,  sometimes  by  joining  the  hunt,  of  which  he  was 
still  very  fond,  and  sometimes  by  riding  over  his  estate,  and 
giving  his  personal  attention  to  its  management.  But  still 
more  frequently  his  horse's  head  would  be  turned  in  the 
direction  of  The  Crags. 

Thus  happily  passed  the  time  at  the  Island  Palace,  until 
Mrs.  Armstrong,  at  the  invitation  of  Louis,  came  to  pass  a 
month  with  her  daughter.  The  presence  of  this  haughty 
and  frozen  woman  cast  a  cloud  over  the  brightness  of  The 
Isle  of  Rays.  She  radiated  a  spiritual  cold  that  chilled  all 
who  approached  her.  She  had  arrived  in  her  coldest, 
hardest,  and  haughtiest  mood ;  and  all  that  she  saw,  heard, 
and  felt  there,  aroused  the  most  malignant  passions  of  her 
•oul.  She  saw  Louise,  instead  of  being  pale  and  dispirited 
at  her  long  absence,  looking  rosy  and  joyous ;  and  if  aha 
did  not  hate  the  child  for  daring  to  be  happy,  except  by  bet 


*   \  THE     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

permission  and  through  her  means,  at  least  she  loathed  hei 
daughter's  husband,  for  superseding  her  in  the  work.  Yes, 
•he  began  to  hate  Louis  in  proportion  as  Louise  loved  him. 
And  sometimes  she  would  look  at  Louise  in  astonishment, 
wondering  that  she  presumed  to  be  so  free,  so  glad,  in  her 
presence !  She  grew  alarmed  for  the  permanency  of  her 
Influence  over  her  child's  intellect  and  aflt-ctions.  "In  one 
short  mouth  I  have  lost  so  much  ground.  In  a  year  longer 
I  shall  be  nothing  in  the  sum  of  Mrs.  Stuart-Gordon's  life  1 
And  she  is  my  child! — MINE  !  I  gave  her  life !  She  came 
into  the  world  by  my  will — mine!  And  who  is  this  Louis 
Stuart-Gordon  ?  Perdition  catch  his  soul  1  to  come  be- 
tween me  and  the  child  I  bore  1"  And  deep  in  the  heart 
of  this  woman,  whose  external  appearance  was  so  cold,  so 
hard,  so  sttern,  whose  manners  were  so  guarded,  so  haughty, 
BO  freezing — deep  in  the  heart  of  this  diabolical  woman 
burned  and  burned  a  concealed,  intense,  and  growing  jeal- 
ousy, as  under  the  snow-clad  surface  of  Etna  glow  the  most 
dangerous  fires. 

"  I  will  not  le»ve  my  child  alone  with  these  people  an- 
other month,"  she  said  ;  "  they  shall  not  win  her  affections 
entirely  from  me.  Louise  is  not  the  same  being;  in  an- 
other five  or  six  weeks  she  is  lost  to  me.  I  will  remain  with 
her.  Yes,  I  will  remain  with  her.  I  will  marry  this  old 
creature — this  old  Stuart-Gordon.  True,  he  is  some  fifteen 
years  cider  than  myself — true,  this  will  be  a  descent  on  my 
part — that  it  is  a  grave  departure  from  high  self-respect  in 
a  woman  of  my  mature  age,  to  marry,  under  any  circnm- 
itances ;  but  I  must  maintain  my  authority  over  Lc  nise  1 
I  must  do  it  by  residing  with  her ;  and  I  can  only  reside 
with  her  as  the  mistress  of  this  house  and  estate.  I  cannot 
take  a  lubordinate  position  in  the  house  of  my  daughter 
and  son-in-law.  I  must  make  up  my  mind  to  marry  this 
old  Stuart-Gordon.  The  neighborhood,  I  presume,  will 
hare  a  great  deal  to  say  upon  the  subject,  when  it  is  know* 


flPKINO    AT    THE    I8LX    OF    BATS.     2$S 

to  be  in  prospect.    Let  them  say  it !    It  I  can  gain  my  own 

consent  to  the  step,  the  opinions  of  others  are  unimportant, 
M  they  are  impertinent.  Moreover,  these  opinions  will 
only  be  whispered  in  subdued  tones ;  none  will  be  found 
daring  enough  to  raise  their  voices  against  any  act  of 
mine.  After  all,  this  will  be  only  an  alliance.  It  will 
give  me  almost  absolute  power  over  this  estate ;  for, 
once  mistress  here,  I  shall  do  as  I  please  with  the  old 
man,  with  his  son,  and  I  will  see  if  the  affairs  of  this 
estate  will  not  be  better  administered  by  me,  than  they 
have  ever  been  by  this  fox-hunting  and  dinner- giving 
bon-vivant,  or  this  flute-playing,  verse-making  sentimen- 
talist !  The  government  of  two  such  estates  as  those  of 
Mont  Crystal  and  The  Isle  of  Kays — estates  that,  joined 
form  half  the  county,  will  give  me  as  large  a  share  of  power, 
ay,  and  more  absolute  power,  than  that  enjoyed  by  anj 
petty  sovereign  in  Europe.  Come  1  it  is  decided  1  I  will 
form  an  alliance  with  this  old  General."  And  recognizing 
no  appeal  from  her  own  high  will,  the  arrogant  woman  set 
about  the  execution  of  her  purpose.  She  became  very  ex- 
acting of  attentions  from  General  Stuart-Gordon,  pressing 
him  with  commanding  haughtiness  into  her  service  upon  all 
occasions.  She  never  arose  to  cross  the  room,  without  say- 
ing, with  the  air  of  an  empress  ordering  her  chamberlain — 
"  General,  I  will  trouble  you  for  the  support  of  your  arm." 
She  made  him  fetch  and  carry  her  fan,  reticule,  and  knot- 
ting, open  and  shut  doors,  hand  her  water,  pick  up  her 
handkerchief,  and  do  her  errands,  and  all  with  the  air  of 
conferring  a  great  honor  upon  his  Generalship.  The  cli- 
max was  in  the  evening,  when  she  would  command  him  to 
open  the  chess-board,  and  play  a  game  of  chess  with  her. 
General  Stuart-Gordon,  gallant,  good-natured,  and  at  lei- 
•ure,  was  very  ranch  at  the  command  of  any  lady  who 
would  do  him  the  honor  of  exacting  his  services.  Beside 
which,  he  had  a  Tery  great  respect  for  Mrs.  Armstrong 


2ft4  THE     MOTHER-IN -L4.W. 

boih  npon  account  of  her  impDsing  rank,  character,  a&4 
deportment,  and  by  reason  of  her  position  as  his  guest.  In 
addition  to  his  universal  gallantry  and  particular  devotion, 
General  Stuart-Gordon  had  two  very  important  reasons  for 
employing  and  conciliating  Mrs.  Armstrong.  First,  h« 
taw  that  her  surveillance  over  Louis  and  Louise  impaired 
their  happiness,  and  he  wished  to  deliver  his  children,  as  he 
called  them,  from  her  espionage,  by  absorbing  her  attention 
himself.  Secretly,  he  stood  in  great  awe  of  Mrs.  Arm- 
strong ;  he  felt  a  presentiment  that  she  would  be  horrified 
and  outrageous  at  the  news  of  the  projected  marriage  be- 
tween himself  and  Miss  O'Riley,  and  he  wished  to  con- 
ciliate her  good  feeling  before  he  should  dare  to  announce 
it.  And  as  the  marriage  was  already  appointed  and  ap- 
proaching, this  annunciation  was  an  imperative  necessity. 
Ah  !  little  did  he  dream  of  the  matrimonial  designs  of  the 
lady  herself  upon  him  !  Old  gentlemen  see  nothing  impro- 
per or  unusual  in  their  own  connubial  intentions,  yet  are 
grievously  shocked  when  they  hear  of  any  such  projects 
finding  a  lodgment  in  the  brain  of  an  elderly  lady.  This 
feeling  may  be  natural  and  right.  General  Stuart-Gordon, 
then,  never  suspected  the  drift  of  Mrs.  Armstrong's  thoughts 
and  purposes.  He  was  charmed  that  she  treated  him  well, 
with  kindness,  with  sympathy ;  and  as  days  passed,  and  as 
every  day  saw  them  somehow  better  friends,  he  did  not 
despair  of  her  consent  to  his  marriage  with  Miss  O'Riley. 
And  this  consent  was  of  more  importance  to  the  General 
than  any  one  at  first  thjught  would  suppose;  for  General 
iStuart  -  Gordon  loved  family  peace  and  good  fellowship 
above  all  things — except  Brighiy!  Encouraged  by  Mra. 
Armstrong's  gracious  and  condescending  manners,  he  began 
to  feel  his  way,  as  it  were,  toward  an  explanation. 

Finding  himself  alone  with  the  dowager  in  the  morning,, 
when  Louis  and  Louise  would  be  roaming  about  the  gak 
Sen,  or  reading  poetry  in  their  room,  he  would  begin  to  B»S 


iPRING     AT    THE    ISLE     OF    BATS.      235 

lomething  pathetic  about  the  solitnde  of  his  position,  for- 
getting— the  egotist ! — that  the  lady  to  whom  he  spoke  was 
just  precisely  in  the  same  predicament  as  himself,  and 
therefore  extremely  likely  to  misapprehend  the  drift  of  his 
discourse.  And  so  he  would  say  very  moving  things  about 
his  loneliness — very  touching  things  about  going  down  th« 
rale  of  years  alone — expecting  to  move  Mrs.  Armstrong's 
pity  for  his  condition,  and  by  and  by  win  her  consent  to  his 
marriage.  And  Mrs.  Armstrong,  totally  misunderstanding 
his  purpose  and  misapplying  his  words,  would  receive  these 
conGdences  with  much  more  indulgence  than  he  could  have 
hoped  to  obtain.  Nay,  Mrs.  Armstrong  would  fully  agree 
with  General  Stuart-Gordon,  that  it  was  a  serious  thing  to 
be  left  alone  in  the  decline  of  life — that  as  young  people 
would  take  to  themselves  partners  and  leave  their  parents 
alone,  it  behooved  the  latter  to  secure  companions  on  the 
downward  journey  of  life.  And  it  was  wonderful  upon 
what  good  terms  they  would  part  after  just  such  confidences 
as  these — each  misunderstanding  the  other  very  thoroughly ! 
General  Stuart-Gordon  would  step  off  on  tiptoe,  as  though 
ne  trod  on  air,  thinking  his  paths  made  straight  before  him ! 
Mrs.  Armstrong  would  sail  out  with  her  stately  mien, 
•nd  assume  an  extra  degree  of  authority  over  Louise,  Louis, 
the  negroes,  the  mansion,  and  the  estate — fully  believing 
ihis  authority  to  be  but  slightly  anticipated. 

The  decisive  hour  arrived.  General  Stuart-Gordon  was 
to  be  married  in  a  month ;  and  no  one,  as  yet,  suspected  it. 
It  was  now  absolutely  necessary  that  the  announcement  of 
this  approaching  marriage  should  be  made. 

One  morning,  immediately  after  breakfast,  Louis  and 
Louise  as  usual  left  the  house.  They  were  to  take  the  boat 
and  have  a  little  voyage.  Mrs.  Armstrong  sailed  majes- 
tically into  the  drawing-room,  and  seating  herself  in  one  of 
UM  high-backed  chairs  near  tb«  front  windows,  took  oat  he? 


2S6  THE     MOTHER    IN-I  AW. 

knotting  and  commenced  work.  The  door  opened,  and 
General  Stuart-Gordon,  having  screwed  his  "courage  to  the 
sticking-place,"  stalked  superbly  down  the  room,  and,  draw- 
ing a  chair  opposite  to  that  of  the  dowager,  sank  into  it, 
and — and — unluckily  forgot  the  speech — a  piece  of  the 
most  convincing  logic  and  the  most  subduing  eloquence 
erer  composed — that  he  had  prepared  to  conquer  Mr& 
Armstrong  with.  He  found  nothing  to  say  but  that  which 
he  had  said  a  hundred  times  already,  namely — 

"You  perceive  that  those  young  people  have  left  us  alone 
again,  madam  !  the  egotists — the  egotists !  They  forget 
every  one  else — every  thing  else — except  themselves,  and 
the  presence  of  nature  I" 

"  Happiness  is  selfish  sir,"  replied  the  laconic  lady. 

Silence — a  deep  pause — a  great  sigh  from  General  Stuart- 
Gordon,  who  breaks  the  spell  by  saying,  pathetically — 

"It  is  a  dreadful  thing  to  be  alone,  madam." 

"It  is,  sir." 

"Ah!  dreadful  I" 

"Yes,  sir." 

Silence  again — another  pause — expectancy  on  the  side 
of  the  lady — embarrassment  on  the  part  of  the  gentleman, 
who  again  finds  courage  to  speak  in  moving  tones,  say- 
ing- 

"To  go  down  the  vale  of  years  alone,  Mrs.  Armstrong  J* 

"Certainly,  sir." 

"  Is  a  deplorable  prospeot  1" 

"Undoubtedly,  General." 

"Ah!" 

"  I  perfectly  agree  with  your  riew  of  the  case,  General." 

"To  have  no  gentle  female  friend  to  smooth  the  pillow 
of—the  pillow  of— of— " 

Silence  a  third  time— the  lady  out  of  patience — the  ft* 
kleman  oat  of  courage. 

The  lady  at  last  comes  to  his  assistant*— 


8PBING    AT    THE    ISLI    OT    BITS.      287 

•I  am  surprised,  General  Stuart-Gordon,  that  yon  who 
io  not  like  the  loneliness  of  your  life,  should  never  think  of 
taking  a  consort." 

"  Madam  1  oh!" 

"  That  yon  should  never  think  of  marrying." 

"  Mrs.  Armstrong,  if  I  presumed,  If  I  thought,  if  I 
fcoped— " 

"Well,  sir?" 

"  If  I  dared  to  hope—" 

"  Well,  sir  ?" 

"  In  short,  madam,  I  have  dared  to  hope  your  approba- 
tion to  my  suit.  I — " 

A  pause. 

"  I  listen,  sir." 

"In  one  word,  madam,  I  have  selected  a  lady," said  Gen- 
eral Stuart-Gordon,  in  an  earnest  tone  of  voice,  looking  in- 
tently at  the  dowager,  who  kept  her  eyes  fixed  upon  her 
knotting. 

"  I  await  your  further  explanation,  sir." 

"A  lady  of  the  finest  intellect,  of  the  highest  spirit,  of  the 
most  dignified  manner — " 

"You  are  extravagant.  I  fear,  sir." 

"A  lady  in  whose  praise  no  terms  of  admiration  could  be 
thought  extravagant" 

"You  are  an  enthusiast,  General." 

A  lady  worthy  of  the  highest  honor." 

"  Your  panegyric  is  embarrassing,  sir." 

"A  lady  who  has  my  whole  heart's  affection — my  whole 
kead'*  approval." 

A  pause. 

"I  listen  to  you,  sir." 

"A  lady  who  will  be  singularly  acceptable  to  my  dear  daugh- 
ter-in-law—one  bound  to  her  by  the  ties  of  affection — ont 
bound  to  her  by  the  obligations  of  gratitude — one  whose 
care  and  instruction  has  contributed  to  make  LoaiM  what 


ISS  THB     MOTHKR-IN-LAW. 

•he  is — one  with  whom  it  will  delight  Louise  to  pass  heff 
whole  existence — one  beloved,  idolized  by  Louise." 

"And  this  lady— " 

"  7s  one  whom  Mrs.  Armstrong  cannot  for  a  moment  be 
at  a  loss  to  designate,"  said  General  Stuart-Gordon,  in  a 
deep,  earnest  tone  of  voice,  and  looking  intently  in  the  face 
of  Mrs.  Armstrong. 

Mrs.  Armstrong  arose,  with  an  air  of  majestic  grace, 
and,  standing,  placed  her  hand  within  that  of  General  Stu 
art-Gordon,  and  said  : — 

"  Sir,  I  cannot,  as  you  have  asserted,  be  at  a  loss  to  de- 
signate the  lady  whom  you  have  honored  by  your  preference 
— and  I  thank  you  in  the  acceptance  of  your  overtures  ! 
Do  not,  however,  suppose  by  that  I  receive  all  the  extrava- 
gant encomiums  that  you  have  been  so  polite  as  to  lavish 
upon  me.  I  listen  to  them  merely  as  the  stereotyped  com- 
pliments gentlemen  are  please  to  pay  upon  these  occasions 
[  will,  however,  dispense  with  them  from  this  time,  sir,  as 
wa  are  rather  mature  to  make  or  receive  gallant  speeches. 
Nevertheless,  there  is  a  singular  propriety  in  your  selection, 
anil  a  most  becoming  fitness  in  our  alliance,  sir.  The 
house  of  Blackistone  and  of  Armstrong,  like  that  of  Cart- 
wright  and  Stuart-Gordon,  is  one  of  the  oldest  in  the  coun 
iry.  I  shall  not  dishonor  the  old  and  haughty  name  of 
Stuart-Gordon  ;"  and,  bending  her  head  graciously,  the  lady 
iras  sailing  majestically  from  the  room,  when — 

I  wish  you  could  have  seen  the  countenance  of  General 
Stuart-Gordon,  as  his  face  blanched  and  blanched,  his  head 
grew  dizzy,  his  back  grew  weak,  and  his  knees  smote  to- 
gether. Here  was  a  catastrophe !  In  truth  the  sky  wag 
falling.  He  felt  the  fragments  shattering  his  nerves.  With 
an  adjuring  gesture  of  despair  and  desperation,  he  advanced 
toward  her — 

"Mrs.  Armstrong." 

sir?"  said  the  lady.,  turning  quietly  aroand 


IfftlNG  AT     THE     ISLI     OF     RAYS.      289 

*  My  dear  madam." 
"  Well,  sir  ?" 

"  I  am  covered  with  confusion." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,  sir." 

"  Madam  1  my  dear  lady !  you  have  misunderstood  me.* 

"  Sir  ?» 

"Excuse  me  !  you  have  mistaken  my  meaning." 

"  Sir  ?» 

"Forgive  me  !  I  never  presumed  to  the  distinguished  al- 
liance of  Mrs.  Armstrong." 

"Sir?" 

"Pardon!  pardon!  The  lady  of  my  choice  does  not  oc- 
cupy so  high  a  place  in  society.  The  lady  of  my  choice — " 

"  Is—" 

" Miss  Britannia  O'Rilcy .'" 

Words  would  fall  to  express  the  dumbfounded  astonish- 
ment, the  astounded  dismay,  of  that  haughty  woman,  struck 
statue-still,  with  wonder,  where  she  stood !  Yes,  at  first  it 
was  simple  stupefied  wonder  that  fixed  her  there,  with  rigid 
limbs,  pallid  cheeks,  and  darkly  corrugated  brows.  Yes,  it 
was  wonder,  before  it  was  even  rage  or  vengeance. 

"  BRITANNIA  O'RILEY  1" 

"  Britannia  O'Riley." 

"A  governess  I  a  domestic!  a  hired  servant!" 

"Britannia  O'Riley!  a  beautiful,  graceful,  elegant,  and 
accomplished  woman." 

"A  beggar!  a  low  Irish  beggar  !" 

"A  lady  !  a  lady  to  whom  I  shall  be  proud  to  give  my 
name. " 

"A  poor,  miserable  Irish  beggar,  whom  I  hired  to  senrt 
jay  daughter  I" 

"My  intended  wife,  Mrs.  Stuart-Gordon,  senior,  and 
mistress  of  my  house  within  one  month  from  this." 

"Are  you  dreaming — insane — intoxicated?" 

*  Madam,  I  should  lay  myself  under  the  suspicion  of  b« 


J40  THE     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

ing  influenced  by  one  of  the  three  states,  if  I  permitted  you 
for  one  moment  longer  to  indulge  in  the  intemperate  lan- 
guage you  have  just  used." 

"General  Stuart-Gordon,  I  shall  leave  your  house." 

11  Mrs.  Armstrong,  I  trust  you  will  see  the  absolute,  th« 
Inevitable  necessity  of  yonr  leaving  this  house  before  the  ar- 
rival of  my  wife." 

"Am  I  to  be  insulted — outraged — under  the  roof  of  my 
daughter  ?" 

"  No,  Madam  !  nor  are  you  to  insult  or  outrage  the  in- 
tended wife  of  her  husband's  father." 

"Enough!  I  leave  this  house  to-morrow,  and  my  daugh- 
ter fjlurns  to  Mont  Crystal  with  me." 

"  Madam  !" 

"  My  daughter  came  hither  a  bride — entered  this  house 
as  its  mistress.  She  should  not  have  entered  it  upon  any 
other  terms — she  shall  not  remain  in  it  in  any  other  capacity. 
She  shall  not  cede  her  place,  and  give  precedence  to  a  low- 
born Irish  serving-wench." 

"  My  wife  will  be  mistress  of  my  house  without  a  doubt, 
madam.  And  Mrs.  Louis  will  certainly  give  precedence  to 
Mrs.  Stuavt-Gordon,  as  becomes  her." 

"Indeed,  sir !  You  forget  that  Louis  Stuart-Gordon  in- 
herits The  Isle  of  Rays  in  right  of  his  mother,  Margaret 
Stuart-Gordon — not  in  right  of  the  man  who  bartered  his 
patronymic  for  a  fortune  I  That,  therefore,  Louis  Stuart- 
Sordon  is  master  of  the  estate  and  mansion-house,  as  his 
wife  is  mistress  of  the  same." 

"  I  think  you  have  been  misinformed  upon  some  of  thea« 
points,  madam,  I  think  you  will  find  yourself  seriously  mis- 
taken." 

"Sir !  my  daughter  and  myself  have  too  much  self-re- 
spect to  strive  for  precedence  with  an  Irish  waiting-maid, 
or  the  dotard  whom  her  cunning  has  enslaved.  My  daugh 
ter  returns  with  or  to  Mont  Crystal.' 


A     PAKLOB     6TOBK.  241 

"  Ton  return  alone,  madam  !  Mrs.  Louis  remains  whew 
•he  is." 

"We  shall  see,  sir  I"  exclaimed  the  lady,  purple  with 
rage. 

"  We  shall  see,  madam !"  replied  the  General,  bowing 
ceremoniously,  as  he  held  the  door  open  for  her  to  pass 
through. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

A   PARLOR   STORM- 

Her's  was  not  tbat  blind  capricious  rage, 
A  word  can  kindle  and  a  word  assuage ; 
Bat  the  deep  workings  of  a  mol  unmixed. 
With  aught  of  pity  where  its  wrath  had  ftx»d.— Sjfron. 

Mas.  ARMSTRONG  reached  her  chamber,  and  by  a  pe«l 
of  bells  brought  Kate  Jumper  to  her  presence — 

"  Have  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Stuart-Gordou  left  the  shores  of 
the  Island  yet  7" 

"Yet,  madam." 

"  How  long  since  ?' 

"An  hour,  madam." 

"  Do  yon  know  what  direction  they  took  ?" 

"Up  the  river  toward  the  falls,  madam." 

"  It  is  too  late  and  too  far  to  recall  them.  You  may  go  I 
-«tay!" 

"Madam  " 

"  Go  into  Mrs.  Stuart-Gordon's  room  and  pack  up  BOI 
wardrobe.  We  return  to  Mont  Crystal  to-night." 

"Yea,  madam." 

"And,  obe«rve,  be  tileni  npon  this  mattei." 

"Yet,  madam." 


242  THE     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

"  When  you  have  completed  the  packing  of  Mrs.  8taart« 
Gordon's  wardrobe,  return  hither  to  pack  up  my  own 
Go  I" 

And  thus  dismissing  her  attendant,  the  lady  seated  her- 
self in  stern  calmness  by  the  window,  and  took  out  her 
knotting. 

The  tall  mulatto  stalked  on  to  the  apartments  of  the  bride, 
to  execute  her  mistress's  orders. 

The  suit  of  apartments  appropriated  to  Louis  and  Louise 
consisted  of  one  bed-chamber,  between  two  dressing-rooms, 
and  connected  with  them.  The  dressing-room  assigned  to 
Louise  was  fitted  up  in  the  most  costly  and  elegant  style. 
It  was  a  front  room  on  the  second  floor,  and  its  two  tall 
windows  overlooked  the  terrace,  lawn,  river,  the  opposite 
bank,  and  the  bride's  own  home,  Mont  Crystal.  Between 
these  two  high  front  windows  hung  a  tall  cheval-mirror — 
and  the  windows  and  the  mirror  were  curtained  and  fes- 
tooned with  blue  silk  and  white  lace,  tied  up  with  ribbons, 
and  wreaths  of  violets.  The  carpet  on  the  floor  and  the 
paper  on  the  walls  were  of  the  same  color  and  pattern — 
blue  violets  running  over  a  white  ground.  The  bureaus, 
wardrobes,  dressing-tables,  &c.,  were  all  of  that  beautiful 
white  satin-wood  that  looks  so  much  like  ivory. 

When  Kate  Jumper  stalked  into  this  room,  she  found  it 
already  occupied  by  a  little,  old,  short,  thick-set  negresa, 
who  was  not  employing  herself  by  setting  the  room  in  order, 
bnt  amusing  herself  by  trying  on  one  her  young  mistress'i 
exquisite  little  French  hats,  and  viewing  with  much  self- 
satisfaction  the  effect  of  the  soft  white  velvet  and  delicat* 
white  plumes  surrounding  a  face  black,  shining,  seamed, 
and  wrinkled  as  a  dried  prune. 

This  was  Seraphina,  the  wife  of  Apollo,  and  the  nnrat 
and  waiting  maid  of  all  the  Mistresses  and  the  Misses  Stnart- 
Gordon  for  the  last  "fty  years,  now  the  personal  atteadaa 
of  Louise. 


A     PARLOR     STORM.  249 

"Good  morning,  Mrs.  Jumper,"  said  the  seraph,  laying 
off  the  white  hat  and  feathers  indifferently. 

Kate  Jumper  disdained  to  answer  except  by  a  short  nod, 
and,  striding  up  past  the  Abigail,  she  took  the  bunch  of 
keys  from  the  dressing-table,  and  began  to  unlock  the  bu- 
reaus— 

"What  are  yon  going  to  do,  Mrs.  Jumper?" 

The  mulatto  did  uot  think  it  worth  while  to  reply. 

"  I  say  there  1  I  say  there  !  don't  tech  them  Brissles  lacea 
and  ribbons  1  I  never  'low  anybody  to  tech  'urn  but  myself. 
I  say  1  why  don't  you  hear  me  ?  why  don't  you  stop  ?  Are 
you  crazy  ?  Stop  o'  rummidgin'  my  missis's  thingumies — 
will  you  ?  Here,  give  me  the  keys  1  I  never  seen  sich  im- 
pidence  in  all  my  life  !  You  must  be  cracked  I  Here,  gim 
me  them  keys  1"  and  running  and  waddling  toward  her,  the 
little  woman  possessed  herself  of  the  disputed  keys  with  a 
sudden  jerk. 

Kate  Jumper,  without  speaking,  quietly  held  out  her 
hand  to  get  them  again.  Seraph  hugged  them  under  her 
fat  chin  with  both  hands.  With  a  silent  but  peremptory 
gesture  the  mulatto  started  to  her  feet,  and  demanded  their 
return. 

"  I  won't  1  I  shan't  I  Set  you  up  with  it,  indeed  !  Eum- 
midgin'  my  young  missis's  drawers  I  You  don't  look  lik« 
the  mos'  honestest  person  in  the  worl',  no  how  1  /  don't 
know  nuffin  'boat  your  corrector. " 

With  a  quiet,  quick  dart  of  her  hand  the  mulato  gripped 
her  talons  round  the  throat  of  Seraph,  and  choked  her  until 
she  grew  full  in  the  face,  and  dropped  the  keys ;  then  draw- 
ing her  toward  the  door,  she  silently  thrust  her  out,  closed 
the  door  and  locked  it  on  the  inside. 

All  this  passed  so  quietly,  that  one  in  the  next  room 
would  not  have  known  what  was  going  on. 

Seraph,  on  the  floor  outside  the  door,  convulsed,  heaved, 
ipluttered,  sneezed,  coughed,  and  recovered  herself— 


244  THX     MOTHBB-IX-LAW. 

"  The  Lor,  a  massy  upon  me  !  Dis  is  wuss  'an  de  laadia' 
o'  de  British.  I  say  in  dere  t  you  no  nation  !  I'd  holler 
murder,  only  I  won't  make  a  'fusion  to  'sturb  de  family. 
But  I'll  have  you  put  in  jail  for  'salt  and  battern'  me  I  an' 
for  abreakin*  open  of  my  missis's  drawers.  Oh,  you  won't 
speak  !  Never  you  min' !  you'll  see  I  you  good  for  nothin' 
poor  white  man's  darter  you  /" 

There !  that  was  the  most  insulting  taunt  a  pure-blooded 
Virginia  negro  could  cast  upon  a  mulatto.  And  having 
spent  the  force  of  her  fury  on  this  last  expletive,  Seraph 
gathered  herself  up  and  waddled  down  stairs,  leaving  Kate 
Jumper  to  go  on  with  her  packing. 

Kate  pursued  her  task  until  she  had  completed  it,  even 
to  the  strapping  of  the  trunks,  and  then,  taking  with  her 
the  bunch  of  keys,  she  went  out  of  the  room,  locked  the 
door  to  prevent  the  re-entrance  of  her  antagonist,  Seraph, 
and  took  the  keys  to  the  chamber  of  Mrs.  Armstrong.  She 
found  that  lady  still  seated  at  the  window,  knotting  with 
apparent  composure. 

"  Have  you  done  ?" 

"  Yes,  madam,  every  thing  is  packed  and  ready,  and  Mrs. 
Stuart-Gordon's  shawl  and  hat  are  laid  out  upon  the  bed 
for  her  to  wear  Here  are  the  keys." 

"  Very  good  1  I  shall  keep  my  room  until  dinner.  When 
Mrs.  Stuart-Gordon  returns,  let  her  know  that  I  expect  her 
here.  Now,  go  1" 

And  she  went  on  very  quietly  with  her  knotting.  By  no 
outward  sign  could  the  most  suspicious  and  acute  observer 
have  detected  the  fell  determination  of  this  pitiless  mother. 

There  she  sat  by  the  open  window,  watching  the  summer 
ran  slowly  decline,  unmindful,  unconscious  of  the  resplendent 
beauty  of  the  scene  stretched  out  before  her — a  landscape 
whose  gorgeous  glory  would  have  caught  the  breath  from 
any  other  beholder.  There  she  sat  watching  the  sun'i  splea- 
«id  descent,  impatient  for  its  setting,  which  would  bring 


A     FABLOB     BTOBM.  246 

Louis  and  Louise  home,  and  hasten  the  hoar  of  her  depar- 
ture with  her  daughter — the  hour  of  her  vengeance.  There 
•he  sat,  resolved,  though  knowing  how  much  Louise 
Joved  Louis — ay,  and  hating  her  for  thus  loving  him — 
Knowing  how  this  separation  would  torture  Louise,  and 
taking  a  secret  and  diabolical  pleasure  in  the  idea  of  the 
torture — smiling  grimly  to  herself  at  the  thought  of  this 
separation — smiling  grimly  at  the  thought  that  Louise 
should  suffer  for  having  thus  transferred  her  affections — 
that  Louis  should  be  agonized  for  having  won  from  herself 
this  love — that  General  Stuart-Gordon  should  be  humiliated 
for  having  doubly  mortified  her,  in  the  disappointment  of 
her  ambitious  projects  both  for  herself  and  her  daughter. 
This  signal  separation  and  its  cause  would  lay  his  pride  in 
the  dust.  For  herself,  she  was  too  really  and  essentially 
proud  to  care  what  construction  might  be  put  upon  her 
actions.  She  sat  there,  stern,  erect,  resolute,  determined, 
bnt  calm,  except  when  occasionally  that  diabolical  grin  dis- 
torted her  features,  going  on  with  her  knotting  without 
dropping  one  stitch,  or  missing  one  mesh. 

At  last,  when  the  sun  had  sunk  behind  the  mountain, 
and  when  the  slanting  shadows  had  stretched  quite  acrosi 
the  river,  darkening  the  whole  scene,  a  rap  was  heard  at 
her  door,  and  soon  after  Kate  Jumper  entered — 

"  Mrs.  Stuart-Gordon  has  just  returned,  madam,  and  ii 
coming  up  to  her  room  to  change  her  dress  for  dinner.  Lot 
me  have  the  keys." 

"  Did  you  deliver  my  message  to  her  f" 
"  Yes,  madam  ;  but  she  prefers  to  dress  first." 
"  Louise  pays  very  little  regard  to  my  wishes  since  her 
marriage,"   thought  the  mother,  bitterly ;    then  she  said, 
"Go  and  tell  Mrs.  Stuart-Gordon  that  I  am  waiting  for  her 
here." 

The  woman  had  scarcely  left  the  room  before  the  light 
itcp  and  clear  voice  of  Louise  wa*  heard  tripping  and  aing- 


246  THB     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

ing  up  the  stairs,  a  merry,  trilling  quadrille  air.  Tht 
dancing  and  singing  abruptly  ceased  us  she  reached  th« 
door  of  her  mother's  apartment,  and  rapped  before  venturing 
to  enter. 

"  Come  in,  my  daughter  I"  said  the  voice  of  the  lady,  in 
kinder  tones  than  those  she  usually  employed  in  speaking  to 
her  child,  or  to  any  one  else  in  fact 

Louise  opened  the  door  sofily,  and  entered  the  room. 

"  You  have  a  very  unlady-like  manner  of  entering  a  house 
and  ascending  a  flight  of  stairs,  my  daughter.  I  am  pleased, 
however,  that  your  boisterousness  moderated  a  little  as  yon 
neared  my  door." 

"Dear  mother,  Louis  loves  to  see  me  merry — encourages 
me  to  be  wild ;  and  indeed  I  lately  have  a  tendency  that 
way,  so  that  I  sometimes  forget  you — " 

"  Oh,  I  have  no  doubt  in  the  world  that  you  forget  me. 
It  was  not  that,  however,  of  which  I  wished  to  speak  to  you. 
Come  and  sit  by  my  side,  Louise." 

The  girl  took  the  indicated  seat,  the  foot-stool  at  her 
mother's  feet,  and  laying  her  arms  over  her  mother's  lap^ 
looked  up  into  her  face  to  see  what  she  was  about  to  say. 

"  Do  you  love  me,  Louise  ?"  asked  the  lady  in  a  serious 
tone. 

"  My  dear  mother  I  would  yon  only  let  me  love  you  1" 

"  Yet  for  a  month  past  you  have  neglected  and  forgotten 
me  for  a  comparative  stranger." 

This  was  partly  true,  as  under  all  the  circumstances  it 
was  very  natural.  This  was  true,  and  Louise  could  not 
deny  it.  She  was  conscience-stricken  and  pricked  to  the 
heart.  She  was  silent. 

"  Yes  1  my  child  has  ceased  to  love  me — my  child  has 
forsaken  her  mother  for  a  comparative  stranger  1" 

Louise  hung  down  her  fair  head,  and  the  tears  began  to 
gather  in  her  eyes  and  roll  down  her  cheeks. 

"  My  chi'd,  thai  I  bore  and  nursed — that  I  brought  tp 


A     PARLOR     STOBM.  247 

and  educated — thai.  I  never  would  send  from  me,  even  to 
sleep — my  only  child  has  ceased  to  love  me." 

The  tears  of  the  daughter  were  falling  fast.  She  was 
•ubdued  by  the  thought  that  her  mother — her  proud,  lofty 
mother — should  bend  thus  a  supplicant  for  a  share  in  her 
child's  heart. 

"  Yes,  she  has  ceased  to  love  her  mother ;  her  mother, 
whose  whole  and  sole  thought  has  been  in  her  welfar* 
alone." 

Louise,  filled  with  remorse,  had  no  power  of  replying. 

"  Yes,  she  has  ceased  to  love  me — me,  who  remained 
through  all  the  best  years  of  my  life  unmarried  for  her  sake  ; 
she  has  ceased  to  love  me,  and  I  am  desolate — a  widow, 
childless,  and  desolate." 

Here,  with  her  deep  knowledge  of  human  nature,  she 
purposely  touched  a  chord  at  which  the  bride's  and  the 
daughter's  heart  vibrated  to  the  quick.  With  the  one  idea 
of  the  young  wife,  the  one  idea  of  wedded  love  filling  her 
mind,  she  suddenly  recollected  that  her  mother  was — a 
widow,  and  her  whole  soul  filled  with  an  overpowering  ten- 
derness of  love  and  pity,  and  casting  her  arms  around  her 
mother,  she  exclaimed — 

"A  widow  !  Oh,  my  dear,  dear  mother,  forgive  me  that 
I  never  thought  of  that  before  I  A  mdow  f  Oh,  my 
mother,  I  never  knew  how  much  sorrow  was  in  that  word 
before  !  A  widow  !  Oh,  my  poor  mother,  how  much,  in- 
deed, you  must  have  suffered!  A  widow!  Oh,  may  the 
Lord  in  mercy  preserve  me  from  ever  becoming — a  widow! 

And  a  shudder  ran  through  all  her  frame. 

"  Oh,  my  dear  mother,  I  do  love  you,  will  love  yon,  all 
that  you  will  let  me.  It  is  sweet  to  be  permitted  to  lov« 
you  so,  mother." 

Mrs.  Armstrong  soothed  and  caressed  her  child. 

Had  this  tenderness  in  the  mother  been  a  customary  thing, 
It  would  not  then  have  possessed  such  all-subduing  pow« 


348  TXl     XOTHIB-IV-LAW. 

orer  Louise.  It  was  the  long-desired,  unhoped  lore,  thai, 
suddenly  manifesting  itself,  completely  subjected  the  wil  of 
the  daughter. 

And  Mrs.  Armstrong  pressed  her  to  her  ktsom,  smoothed 
back  her  golden  hair,  and  kissed  her  snowy  IMQOW,  while 
Louise  would  murmur  softly — 

"  Oh,  it  is  so  sweet  to  hare  yon  lore  me  so,  meihtr— 
vwther" — lingering  orer  the  last  word,  "  mother,"  slowly, 
with  ineffable  tenderness. 

Suddenly  Mrs.  Armstrong  said  to  her,  rery  grarely— 

"  Now,  my  daughter,  I  hare  something  very  serious  to 
•ay  to  you." 

"  Say  it,  my  dear  mother." 

"  Louise,  I  hare  been  insulted,  outraged." 

"  Insulted  !  outraged  1"  repeated  Louise,  looking  up  ii 
astonishment. 

"  Ye§,  my  daughter." 

"  Insulted  I  you  1n  she  exclaimed,  raising  herself  up  in  a 
sitting  posture,  and  gazing  at  her  mother  in  amazement 
"  Mother,  you  I  Who  has  dared  ?" 

"  General  Stuart-Gordon ;  no  less  a  person." 

"  General  Stuart-Gordon  !"  reiterated  Lonise,  in  stupefied 
wonder. 

u  General  Stuart-Gordon." 

"Hot  Mother,  I  am  thunderstruck!  Mother,  am  I 
awake  ?  Shake  me,  mother. " 

"You  are  awake,  Louiie." 

"  And  saie  ? — am  I  sane,  mother  P 

"And  sane,  Louise." 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  I  have  the  nightmare  I  I  wish  I 
could  route  myself.  General  Stuart — " 

"  My  dear  child,  listen ;  I  will  tell  yon  all  aboit  it 
General  Staart-Gordon  informed  me  yesterday,  that  he  WM 
about  to  be  married—" 

"  To  b«  married!" 


A     PARLOR     STORM.  241 

"  My  dear  cnild,  pray  cease  these  vexatious  exclamatory 
repetitions,  and  listen  to  me.  Yes,  he  informed  me  that  h« 
was  about  to  be  married  to  Britannia  O'Riley — " 

"  Britannia  O'Riley !  what !  Brighty  coming  here  ?  Oh — w 

"Once  more,  Mrs.  Stuart-Gordon — I  mean  my  dear 
Louise — I  must  entreat  you  to  cease  repeating  my  words ; 
it  impedes  and  embarrasses  me.  Well,  General  Stuart- 
Gordon  informed  me,  as  I  said,  of  his  approaching  marriage 
with  Miss  O'Riley.  Louise,  what  do  you  think  of  thil 
marriage  ?" 

"  I  cannot  believe  it.     It  cannot  be  true." 

"Why  not?" 

"It  is  too  unlikely." 

"  Upon  what  account  ? — Miss  O'Riley's  want  of  birth — 
fortune  ?" 

"Oh,  no  ;  that  is  nothing." 

"  What  then  ?" 

"  Why,  Brighty's  a  girl,  and  General  Stuart-Gordon  is 
an  old  gentleman.  Oh,  you  know,  of  coarse,  mother,  it 
was  a  joke  ;  that  was  a  joke ;  though  I  admit  that  it  was 
almost  insulting  to  jest  with  you  about  it,  mother." 

"  My  dear,  it  was  no  joke  ;  it  was  truth.  This  marriage 
is  to  come  off  in  a  month." 

"  No,  mother,  no  ;  it  must  be  a  mistake.  It  cannot  be 
true." 

"  I  tell  you  that  I  am  assured  of  it  beyond  a  possibility 
of  a  donbt.  Besides,  I  am  not  apt  to  be  mistaken  in  any 
thing,  my  daughter." 

"But  poor,  dear  Brighty,  then — dear,  brilliant,  sparkling 
Brighty — to  be  lost  so." 

"And  that  is  the  light  in  which  you  view  it,  Louise. 
You,  had  you  been  never  so  poor,  could  not  have  married 
an  old  man  ?" 

Louise  shuddered  and  paled. 

"  Qh,  mother,  don't  j  it  makes  my  blood  run  eol<i"  e» 


250  THE     MOTHEB-IN-LAW. 

claimed  Louise,  who  ful.y  believed  herself  the  type  of  alf. 
womankind  in  this  respect.  "  Poor  Brighty,  dear,  radiant 
Brighty,  to  be  so  extinguished.  Mother,  dear  mother,  tell 
her  not  to  have  him.  Save  her." 

"  I  cannot,  unfortunately.  Miss  O'Riley  is  very  capable 
of  marrying  a  dotard  for  the  sake  of  attaining  a  brilliant 
position.  Your  sympathy  is  besides  quite  thrown  away  upon 
Miss  O'Riley,  who  is  a  clear-headed,  cold-hearted,  selfish, 
and  calculating  woman,  who  will  be  happy  in  her  destiny." 

"  A  brilliant  position  1  so  is  that  of  the  Hindoo  suttee  a 
brilliant  position,  and  one,  it  strikes  me,  as  being  as  great 
an  immolation  as  the  other.  Dearest  mother,  since  you  are 
BO  kind,  and  permit  me  to  speak  so  freely,  let  me  entreat 
you  to  talk  to  General  Stuart-Gordon  on  this  subject.  Beg 
him  not  to  take  advantage  of  Brighty's  poverty,  and  her 
love  of  elegance,  and  her  inexperience.  Tell  him  Brighty 
Is  nothing  but  a  bit  of  a  girl,"  continued  the  little  matron, 
"tell  him  that  she  will  grievously  repent  it.  Tell  him  to  be 
magnanimous,  magnificent,  princely.  Tell  him  to  adopt 
Brighty  as  his  daughter;  to  bring  her  here  and  make  her 
feel  at  home  among  us.  Tell  him,  if  he  wants  to  marry,  to 
find  some  lady  near  his  own  age,  who  will  not  be  compelled 
to  wish  him  dead  all  the  days  of  his  life,  and  to  leave  poor 
Brighty  alone  tc  seek  her  own  share  of  this  world's  life, 
lore,  and  joy." 

"  You  are  very  much  changed,  Louise  I"  said  her  mother, 
in  surprise — "  very  much  changed.  Who  would  have  sup- 
posed that  you  had  reflected  so  much — that  you  would  have 
confidence  to  give  utterance  to  your  reflections  ?" 

"  Mother,  it  is  dearest  Louis  1  He  talks  with  me,  and 
encourages  me  to  talk.  He  listens  to  me — stimulates  me 
to  think.  Oh,  mother,  I  have  thought  more,  heard  more, 
talked  more,  and  lived  more,  in  the  last  month,  than  in  all 
my  past  existence  1  I  seem  tc  have  received  an  impulse 
—to  have  taken  a  new  start  in  Lfo.  The  viata  of  a  universe 


A     PAKLOR     STOBM.  i61 

•WDM  opening  before  me ;  my  soul  seems  to  have  dropped 
its  fetters — escaped  its  prison — and  revels  in  liberty  and 
right.  And  Louis  has  given  me  this  new  life,  mother!" 
The  brow  of  the  lady  darkened.  "  And  that  is  the  reason, 
mother,  why  I  do  so  pity  dear  Brighty.  She  closes  upon 
herself  the  prospect  of  a  happiness  like  mine," — arrested  by 
a  feeling  of  bashfulness,  Louise  suddenly  stopped  in  tu» 
full-flowing  stream  of  her  confidences,  and  blushed.  Soon 
she  recovered  her  composure  and  said,  "  You  will  speak  to 
General  Stuart-Gordon  about  this,  will  you  not,  my  mo- 
ther ?»» 

"  My  daughter,  it  was  of  that  I  wished  to  talk  to  yon.  I 
have  spoken  to  him  upon  this  subject." 

"Andhef" 

"  Became  offended." 

11  And—" 

"  Used  offensive  language  to  me." 

"Mother!" 

"  Violent  language,  Louise." 

"  Mother  /" 

"Ordered  me  to  quit  his  roof." 

"MOTHER!  NO  I"  exclaimed  Louise,  starting  to  her  feet, 
as  the  blood  rushed  to  her  brow. 

"  Be  calm,  my  daughter.  Be  composed  ;  be  lady-like. 
Remember  yourself.  Recollect  that  all  such  manifestations 
of  feeling  are  vulgar.  Be  quiet— you  see  that  I  am." 

"Oh,  my  dear  mother!  but  you  have  been  outraged!" 
said  Louise,  bursting  into  tears. 

"My  daughter,  let  us  talk  composedly.  It  is  certain 
that  I  cannot  remain  here  I" 

"  Nor  /,  mother !" 

"  What  do  you  say,  Louise  ?"  inquired  the  mother  with 
surprise  and  delight,  thinking  her  paths  made  very  straight 
before  her.  "  What  do  you  say,  Louise  f " 

"I  aay  that  /cannot  stay  here,  mother  I" 


262  TEX     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

"Explain,  my  daughter." 

"  Could  I  remain  under  the  roof  of  a  house  from  winch 
my  mother  has  been  driven  ?  No,  mother,  no  !  Louis  will 
will  not  expect  it.  Louis  will  not  desire  it.  Louis  will 
respect  a  daughter's  feelings.  I  will  entreat  him  to  hire  a 
house  and  take  me  hence.  We  will  leave  this  gorgeous 
palace  to  General  Stuart-Gordon  and  any  lady  he  may  be 
pleased  to  set  over  it,  and  we  will  go  into  some  humbler 
house,  in  which  at  least,  my  mother  can  be  safe  from  insult, 
and  secure  of  respect." 

"A  new,  revised,  and  improved  edition  of  love  in  a  cot- 
tage," sneered  the  lady,  but  quickly  remembering  that  her 
cue  was  love  and  confidence,  she  replied,  "  my  daughter,  I 
thank  you  ;  but  this  plan  of  yours  is  impracticable  1" 

"  Impracticable  1" 

"  Yes,  my  daughter  !  Louis  is  just  eighteen.  He  yet 
wants  three  years  of  his  majority.  Until  that  period  ar- 
rives, he  has  not  a  dollar  but  what  his  father  gives  him. 
When  that  period  arrives,  he  is  in  possession  of  all  this 
vast  estate.  Until  that  period  arrives,  he  has  no  means  of 
hiring  a  house,  or  servants,  or  in  any  way  supporting  him- 
gelf  or  his  wife,  apart  from  his  father." 

"  Oh,  Heaven  1  what  shall  I  do  ?" 

"  You  cannot,  of  course,  remain  under  a  roof  from  which 
your  mother  has  been  expelled  !"  Louise  did  not  reply. 
"You  do  not  think  of  it,  I  trust,  my  daughter."  Louis* 
was  weeping  silently.  "Why  do  you  not  answer,  my 
daughter  ?  You  do  not  think  of  remaining  here  after  ". 
have  been  thrust  forth." 

"  Mother,  I  cannot  leave  Louis  1" 

"  My  child  has  ceased  to  love  me — my  only  child  1" 

Here  followed  the  same  line  of  argument,  the  same  logic, 
•loquence,  and  passion — the  same  pathos  about  the  widow- 
hood, the  solitude,  the  desolation — that  had  melted  the 
heart  of  Louise  in  the  first  of  this  scene.  It  subdued  hei 


A     PARLOR     STORM.  25ft 

•gain,  and  more  completely  than  before.  While  she  laid 
her  head,  sobbing,  upon  her  mother's  lap,  she  asked, 

"What  am  I  to  do,  then,  mother  ?  Tell  me  what  I  am 
to  do  ?" 

"Return  with  me  this  evening  to  Mont  Crystal  I" 

"  Mother  !  mother  1" 

"  If  Louis  loves  you,  he  will  follow  you  thither.  I  will 
invite  him  to  remain,  and  we  will  all  live  there  together  nntu 
the  majority  of  Louis  puts  him  in  possession  of  the  Island 
Estate  and  the  Isle  of  Rays.  Will  you  agree  to  this, 
Louise  ?" 

"  Mother  1" 

"  Will  you  return  with  me  this  evening  to  Mont  Crystal  ?" 

"Mother,  my  heart  is  breaking,  but  I  will  do  it." 

"  You  promise  this  ?" 

"I  promise  it." 

"  God  bless  you,  my  daughter." 

"God pity  me,  my  mother." 

The  ringing  of  the  dinner-bell  aroused  them. 

"Will  you  go  down,  mother  ?" 

"No,  my  daughter." 

"  And  I,  then,  mother — what  shall  I  do  ?" 

"  Go  and  prepare  for  your  journey,  my  daughter ;  and 
when  you  are  ready,  meet  me  in  the  drawing-rooin." 

Louise  left  the  room,  weeping. 

"  Dinner  waits,  madam,"  said  a  servant,  rapping  softly 
at  the  door. 

"Let  it  wait,"  was  the  curt  reply  of  the  lady,  who  was 
adjusting  the  folds  of  her  ample  black  velvet  cloak. 

la  a  few  minutes  more,  Mrs.  Armstrong,  in  fall  carriage 
costume,  descended  into  the  hall.  General  Stuart-Gordon 
advanced  from  the  drawing-room  to  meet  her. 

"  Mrs.  Armstrong,  I  have  come  to  solicit  your  pardon 
for  the  intemperate  words  uttered  in  my  excitement  of 
'•his  morning  Will  you  honor  me  by  accepting  the  «up- 


864  THB     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

port  of  my  arm  to  the  drawing-room,  in  token  of  forglTe« 
ness  ?"  said  he,  in  a  deep,  earnest,  and  deprecating  ton* 
and  manner. 

"  Sir !"  replied  the  lady,  drawing  her  majestic  figure  np 
to  its  full  height ;  "  I  bear  no  malice  toward  beasts,  idiot*, 
or  dotards;  I  only  protect  myself  from  their  violence  in 
fatnre.'1 

With  a  grave,  deep  bow,  General  Stuart-Gordon  receded, 
and  allowed  her  to  pass. 

"I  ordered  my  carriage  at  five  o'clock.  You  will  be  so 
good  as  to  see  if  it  waits,  sir  ?"  she  said,  in  an  arrogant 
tone  of  an  offended  despot  speaking  to  a  slave,  as  she  sailed 
on. 

"  Certainly,  madam,  with  pleasure,"  replied  the  General, 
with  a  second  and  deeper  bow. 

She  entered  the  drawing-room,  and  stood  there  waiting 
until  Louise  should  join  her.  She  had  not  long  to  wait. 
Louise  soon  entered,  arrayed  for  her  ride  in  a  white  crape 
shawl,  white  bonnet,  and  veil.  Her  veil  was  down,  to  hide 
her  flowing  tears. 

"Your  carriage  attends  you,  madam,"  announced  Gen- 
eral Stuart  Gordon,  re-entering  the  room. 

"  Are  you  quite  ready,  my  daughter  ?"  inquired  the  lady. 

"  Yes,  quite  ready,  mother ;  but  oh !  I  must  see  Louis 
first.  I  have  not  seen  him  for  an  hour — not  since  we  re- 
turned from  rowing.  I  do  not  not  know  where  he  can 
be,"  replied  the  bride,  in  a  distressing  tone. 

"Where  are  you  going,  Louise?"  inquired  the  General, 
walking  up  to  his  daughter-to-law. 

"  Home  with  mother !"  she  murmured,  sinking  weeping 
into  a  chair. 

"  May  I  inquire,  Mrs.  Louis,  if  your  husband  is  advised 
of  this  proceeding  on  your  part  ?" 

"No,  ilr" 


A     PARLOR     STORM.  261 

*  And  you  leave  this  roof  without  his  knowledge  or  con- 
tent f" 

"  Oh,  sir,"  murmured  the  poor  little  girl,  in  an  almost 
inaudible  voice,  "I  cannot  find  him.  My  mother — alone—- 
insulted— all  the  child  she  has  got — how  could  you  ?"  and 
melted  into  a  sea  of  tears. 

"  SIR,  address  your  conversation  to  ME,  who  well  know 
how  to  answer  you — and  do  not  browbeat  the  child,  like  a 
dastard  1"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Armstrong,  striding  up,  and 
placing  herself  between  them,  and  in  front  of  Louise. 

"  Then,  madam,  I  desire  to  know  the  meaning  of  all  this." 

"  It  is  very  plain,  sir.  My  daughter  returns  with  me  to 
Mont  Crystal." 

"  And  for  what  purpose,  and  to  what  end  ?" 

"  To  reside  henceforth  under  ray  own  roof." 

Here  Louise  raised  her  tearful  face  from  the  handkerchief 
in  which  it  was  buried,  and  looked  up  with  surprise.  Gen- 
eral Stuart-Gordon's  brow  grew  hard  and  stern,  as  that  of 
the  lady  to  whom  he  spoke,  as  he  replied — 

"  And  I  say,  madam,  that  Mrs.  Louis  does  not  stir  out 
of  this  house  without  her  husband's  permission  being  first 
obtained." 

"Ha!  ha!  we  shall  see.  Give  me  your  arm,  my 
daughter  1" 

11  Lay  off  your  bonnet  and  shawl,  Louise !"  commanded 
the  General  in  a  tone  so  stern  and  peremptory,  that  the 
poor  girl  started,  and  instinctively  and  hurriedly  obeyed. 

"  My  daughter,  are  you  mad  ?  What  are  you  doing  f 
Resume  your  bonnet  and  let  us  go  ?" 

"  Do  not  budge,  Mrs.  Louis.     Do  not  stir  a  step." 

"  Give  me  your  arm,  Louise  !     I  command  you  I" 

"  Move  at  your  peril,  Mrs.  Louis  !" 

"  Am  I  to  be  obeyed,  Louise  ?"  sternly  demanded  the  lady. 

"  Do  you  hear  me,  Mrs.  Louis?"  thundered  the  General 

"  Oh,  pity,  Lo-d !"  prayed  Louise,  with  clasped  handi 


256  THB     MOTHEB-IN-L1W. 

and  blanched  cheeks,  her  very  tears  congealed  with  terror- 
looking  from  one  antagonist  to  the  other. 

"  Ah  !  good  I  here  is  Louis  I"  exclaimed  the  General,  aa 
Louis  Stuart-Gordon  quietly  entered  the  room,  and  stood 
arrested  in  an  attitude  of  surprise,  in  the  midst  of  them. 

"Louis!  Louis  1"  exclaimed  Louise,  as,  throwing  out 
her  hands,  she  flew  to  his  arms,  as  a  bird  to  her  nest — flew 
from  the  storm  of  anger  raging  around  her,  and  casting  her 
fair  arms  up  around  his  neck,  and  burying  her  head  in  his 
bosom,  she  hung  there,  palpitating,  her  pale  gold  kicks  and 
white  muslin  drapery  flowing  over  his  black  dress.  And 
Louis  !  He  stood  there,  encircling  her  with  one  arm,  while 
with  the  other  hand  he  stroked  her  locks  and  shoulders — 
soothing  her  perturbation — and  instinctively  mesmerizing 
her.  Meanwhile  the  war  of  words  raged  on. 

"  Sir,  my  daughter  returns  with  me  to  Mont  Crystal !" 

"Madam  !  my  son's  wife  abides  under  our  roof!"  And 
Louise  shuddered,  even  in  the  shelter  of  her  husband's  arms. 

It  was  now  that  Louis  Stuart-Gordon  looked  up,  and 
with  a  gesture  of  the  most  imposing  command,  arrested  the 
storm  of  controversy.  Then,  with  a  silent  but  peremptory 
inquiry,  he  demanded  the  explanation  of  the  scene.  Both 
antagonists  essayed  to  speak  at  once.  Mrs.  Armstrong 
turned  full  upon  him,  and  commenced — 

"  Mr.  Stuart-Gordon,  circumstances  have  transpired,  and 
are  about  to  transpire,  that  constrain  me  to  remove  my 
daughter  from  this  house — "  while  General  Stuart-Gordon 
was  saying — 

"  Louis,  this  lady  designs  to  separate  you  and  your  wife  I" 

"  My  dear  father,  let  me  entreat  you  to  grant  the  lady 
precedence  in  this  explanation,"  said  Louis. 

"  Certainly,  my  son  !     Be  so  good  as  to  proceed,  madam.*' 

And  Mrs.  Armstrong,  in  a  few  curt,  haughty  words,  ex- 
plained the  motive  of  her  act. 

"  So  you  peneive,  Louis,  that  thii  good  lady  wishes  to 


1.     PAR  LOR     STORM.  257 

Rparate  yon  from  your  wife.  Of  course  yon  will  not  con  • 
eent  to  any  such  measure,"  decided  the  General. 

"  My  daughter  SHALL  retura  with  me  1"  persisted  tht 
lady,  with  awful  sternness. 

"  My  son's  wife  '  SHALL'  abide  where  she  is  I"  concluded 
the  General. 

Louise  started  and  shuddered  in  the  arms  of  her  husband. 
Louis  pressed  her  closer  to  his  bosom,  stooped  and  soothed 
her ;  and  then,  erecting  his  slight  but  elegant  form,  he 
waved  his  hand,  and  imposed  silence  by  a  gesture  full  of 
dignity.  And,  looking  from  one  to  the  other,  with  some- 
thing of  grave  rebuke  in  his  tone  and  manner,  he  said — 

"My  honored  father,  and  my  esteemed  mother-in-law, 
you  do  battle  over  my  wife  as  though  she  were  a  slave  in 
whom  both  of  you  possessed  a  property — to  whom  both  of 
you  laid  a  claim.  This  must  cease!  ' Shall '  and  ' shall 
not'  are  terms  that  must  not  be  applied  to  my  wife.  Com- 
mands and  threats  are  things  that  she  must  not  suffer. 
Louise  is  free — free  as  God  made  all  creatures ;  and  she 
must  not  be  deprived  of  her  divine  birthright — of  her  own 
God-given  freedom !  She  shall  direct  her  own  life,  control 
her  own  destiny.  No  one  shall  compel  her  choice — no  one 
shall  even  so  much  as  unduly  influence  her  will.  Louise 
shall  decide  in  this  matter,  as  in  all  others,  for  herself — 
and,"  continued  the  young  man,  growing  a  little  pale, 
"and  I  will  abide  by  her  decision." 

"Good  1  I  accept  the  condition,"  said  Mrs.  Armstrong. 
"  Let  Louise  decide  for  herself.  /  too  will  abide  by  her 
decision." 

"  BAD  !  I  say — it  will  not  do  You  commit  an  error, 
Louis.  You  give  this  gid  her  own  way,  and  her  will  must 
succumb  to  the  first  strong  will  it  encounters — must  suc- 
cumb to  her  mother's.  She  has  never  been  accustomed  to 
aelf-guidance — never  will  be  Gt  for  solf-gnidance." 

"  Never,  unless   she  is   permittee    to   guide  hereel(  »V 


&58  THI     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

father.     Enough  1     We  will  hare  the  decision  of  Louis*, 
and  accept  it." 

"And  abide  by  it,"  chimed  in  Mrs.  Armstrong,  who  fell 
no  doubt  in  her  mind  as  to  the  favorable  (for  her  plan)  de- 
•Iiiou  of  her  daughter. 

"Zounds!  can  there  be  two  sides  to  this  questioa  ?"  ex- 
claimed General  Stuart-Gordon,  put  past  his  gallantry. 

"  Look  up,  Louise ;  look  up,  my  own  1"  murmured  Louis, 
bending  over  her  until  his  lips  were  at  her  ear.  "  Look  up, 
Louise,  and  set  this  vexed  question  at  rest.  No  one  shall 
constrain  yon  will.  Look  up  and  tell  us — will  you  remain 
with  me,  or  depart  with  your  mother  ?" 

She  pressed  closer  to  him,  weeping. 

"  Say,  my  darling — will  you  remain  with  me " 

"  "With  you,  Louis — with  you,  angel  Louis — you,  you," 
murmured  Louise,  dropping  words  and  tears  both  in  his 
bosom. 

"  "What  does  she  say  ?  You  are  not  to  coax  her,"  ex 
claimed  the  mother. 

"She  eays  that  she  will  remain  with  me,"  said  Louis. 

Mrs.  Armstrong  turned  pale,  strode  up  to  her  daughter, 
and  exclaimed,  bitterly  and  sorrowfully — 

"  My  child  !  mine  only  child  !  do  you  abandon  me  thus ! 
me  in  my  age — me  in  my  widow-hood — me  to  endless,  child- 
less solitude  ?  Oh,  Louise  I" 

"  Mother,  no — no  I"  exclaimed  the  poor  bride,  suddenly 
starting  from  the  gentle  arms  of  Louis,  and  throwing  her- 
§elf  upon  the  bosom  of  her  mother.  "  Mother,  no  I  I  will 
go  with  you." 

"  Come,  then ;  your  shawl  and  bonnet — where  are  they  ?n 

"But,  Louis!  oh,  Louis!"  once  more  casting  herself  in 
the  anas  of  her  husband. 

"Again,  my  child,  will  you  come  ?  " 

"  Yei,  I  will  go  with  yon — no,  stay  with  Loul* !  Mo- 
tto! Iiotii!  mother!— oh,  mercy,  ford!" 


A     FA&LO*    STGMM.  269 

And,  broken  between  conflicting  claims  and  emotioaa, 
the  poor  bride  and  child  fainted  over  the  arm  of  h«r  hoi 
band. 

"  THANK  GOD  I"  exclaimed  General  Stuart-Gordon,  sa- 
vagely, in  the  tone  of  an  oath.  "  Take  her  to  her  room, 
Louis ;  lock  the  door  on  the  inside,  and  remain  with  her. 
Don't  be  alarmed— a  fainting-fit  is  nothing.  Call  Seraph 
to  attend  yon,  and  be  quick,  for  she  will  recover  in  five 
minutes,  and  all  this  trouble  will  be  to  go  over  again." 

And  Louis,  raising  her  in  his  arms,  and  calling  loudly  for 
assistance,  bore  her  from  the  room.  Mrs.  Armstrong  started 
to  follow,  but  General  Stuart-Gordon,  with  a  spring,  placed 
himself  before  her  in  the  doorway. 

"Let  me  pass,  sir." 

"No,  you  shall  not,  by  Heaven,  madam!  Louis  is  a 
fool;  and  you  are— Mrs.  Armstrong!  Thank  God  that  I 
am  alive  to  save  my  daughter-in-law  from  perishing  through 
the  folly  of  her  husband,  or  being  destroyed  by  the  cruelty 
»f  her  mother." 

"  Let  me  pass,  sir." 

"  Your  carriage  waits,  madam,  and  your  way  to  it  lie* 
through  the  other  door." 

"LET  ME  PASS,    SIR." 

"Your  carriage  waits,  madam.  Will  it  please  you  to 
deliver  us  from  the  inconvenience  of  your  presence  f " 

Haggard  with  rage,  but  perfectly  impotent,  at  least  for 
the  time  being,  Mrs.  Armstrong  turned  abruptly,  strode 
from  the  room,  entered  her  carriage,  and  was  driven  back 
to  Mont  Crystal,  there  to  brood  secretly  over  och^maa  of 
deeper  vergeance. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE  OLD   MAN'S   DARLING. 

The  more  than  Michael  of  his  bloom. 

Tho  Abighag  of  his  age.— Christopher  SmarCi  Song  of  £•*«•*. 

LOUISE  recovered  from  her  fainting  fit  to  find  her  mother 
fine.  All  night  she  wept  bitterly.  The  next  morning  she 
awoke  pale  and  hollow-eyed.  She  wrote  a  letter  full  of  the 
tenderest  expressions  of  filial  affection,  and  sent  it  to  Mont 
Crystal.  This  letter  was  returned  with  the  seal  unbroken. 
Then  she  would  have  set  out  for  Mont  Crystal  immediately, 
but  a  thunder-storm  arising — a  violent  equinoctial  storm, 
lasting  all  the  afternoon  and  evening — prevented  her.  The 
next  day,  from  the  flood,  the  roads  were  impassable  for  a 
carriage,  and  Louise  could  not  ride  on  horseback.  She 
was  forced  to  content  herself  with  writing  another  and  more 
earnest  and  impassioned  letter  to  her  mother.  The  second 
letter,  like  the  first,  was  returned  unopened — and  Louise 
went  to  bed  and  wept  herself  to  sleep. 

General  Stuart-Gordon  had  ridden  over  to  The  Craga 
that  afternoon,  to  pass  the  evening  with  Brighty.  He  en- 
\ered  the  wainscoted  parlor  with  a  singularly  light  and  brisk 
itep,  threw  off  his  coat,  drew  on  his  wadded  gown,  and  set- 
tled himself  comfortably  in  his  study-chair  by  the  side  of 
the  table  to  read  the  papers  that  had  arrived  in  the  evening's 
nail.  Running  his  eyes  over  the  columns,  his  attention  wag 
arrested  by  the  following  advertisement : — 

"NEXT   OP   KIN. 

"  If  the  heirs   of  Riley  Frobisher  O'Riley,  of  Athlone, 
tj  of  Westmeath,  Ireland,  be  yet  living,  and  should 


THE     OLD     MAN'S     D  A  B  L  I  N  G.  261 

lee  this  advertisement,  they  are  requested  to  report  them- 
selves to  James  Frobisher,  Secretary  of  Legation,  to  th« 
British  Embassy  at  Washington,  where  they  will  hear 
•oraething  to  their  advantage." 

"'Riley  Frobisher  O'Riley,  late  of  Athlone!'  Why,  he 
was  the  father  of  my  Brighty,"  thought  the  General,  reading 
over  the  advertisement  again,  "  '  Will  hear  something  to 
their  advantage* — to  her  advantage — for  there  is  only  she. 
That  means  that  a  fortune  is  left  her,  if  it  means  anything  ? 
Oh,  Brighty  I  shall  I  lose  you  at  last  ?  Shall  this  sole  pri- 
vilege of  making  your  future  prosperous  be  taken  from  me  7 
But  this  is  selfish.  I  said  her  happiness  was  dearer  to  me 
than  anything  else,  yet  now  I  am  alarmed  at  a  piece  of  good 
fortune  promised  her ;  yet,  after  all,  this  may  be  a  mistake. 
I  will  write  at  once,  and  ascertain  what  this  means." 

And,  turning  round  to  his  writing-table,  he  penned  a 
hasty  letter  of  inquiry  to  the  Secretary  of  Legation,  and, 
ringing  for  Apollo,  bade  him,  late  as  it  was,  to  saddle  a  horse 
and  take  it  to  the  post  office,  that  it  might  go  out  in  the 
morning's  mail. 

"  It  will  then  be  two  days  before  I  can  receive  an  answer," 
thought  the  General,  as  he  retired  "to  bed,  bnt  not  to 
sleep." 

Two  days  elapsed — a  week  passed  away — General  Stu- 
art-Gordon had  received  no  answer  as  yet  to  his  letter  to 
the  British  Secretary  of  Legation.  He  had  not  failed  te> 
mention  the  advertisement  to  Britannia,  but  she  tsok  it  <v- 
quietly — seemed  to  think  it  of  so  little  importance — that  Hit 
fears  had  been  set  at  rest;  and,  indeed,  his  self  respect  bad 
prevented  him  from  expressing  to  Britannia  an  uneasine* 
for  which  at  heart  he  condemned  himself.  He  had  even 
grown  to  think  that  the  notice  might  possibly  hare  refer- 
ence to  some  one  else. 

Upon  the  second  week  after  the  family  quarrel,  one  «ren 
II 


262  THE     JCOTHEB-IN-LJLW. 

ing,  as  soon  as  Louise  had,  weeping,  left  ths  oak-p»rlor, 
and  as  soon  as  Louis  had,  sympathizing,  followed  her,  Ge»- 
eral  Stuart-Gordon,  putting  on  his  dressing-gown  and  slip- 
pers, and  sinking  into  his  easy  chair,  began  to  make  himself 
comfortable  by  stretching  out  his  feet  and  resting  them  upon 
the  fire-irons,  and  drawing  his  candle-stand  laden  with  pa- 
pers to  his  side.  He  had  scarcely  commenced  reading, 
when  Apollo  rode  up  to  the  door,  and,  jumping  from  hig 
horse,  entered  the  room  with  the  evening  mail. 

"  Give  them  to  me,  here,  Apollo  1"  said  the  General,  drop- 
ping his  paper ;  and  Apollo,  undrawing  the  strings  of  the 
bag,  and  taking  hold  of  the  bottom  of  the  corners,  emptied 
the  letters  out. 

There  were  letters  from  exporting  grain  and  tobacco  mer- 
chants of  Baltimore  and  New  York ;  there  were  political 
letters  ;  and  there  was  one  that  was  immediately  torn  open 
and  read.  It  bore  the  Washington  post-mark.  It  waa 
from  James  Frobisher,  Esquire,  Secretary  of  the  British 
Embassy  from  the  Court  of  St.  James  to  Washington.  It 
raa  thus : — 

"  WASHINGTON,  April  30,  18 — 
''  To  General  Stuart- Gordon  : — 

"  SIR  :  Yours  of  the  20th  April  is  at  hand.  The  adver- 
tisement of  the  heirs  of  Riley  O'Riley  in  the  Intelligencer 
of  the  10th  April,  to  which  your  letter  alludes,  relates  to  the 
following  facts,  viz : 

"  Joyce  Riley  O'Riley,  last  Earl  of  Clonmachnois,  died 
at  Castle  Clonmachnois,  near  Athlone,  county  of  West- 
meath,  Ireland,  on  the  22d  of  last  February,  aged  uinety 
years.  He  died  intestate  and  without  heirs,  unless  the 
daughter  of  the  late  Riley  O'Riley,  the  youngest  gon  of  the 
Earl's  fourth  son,  can  be  found. 

"  If  this  young  lady  lives  in  the  person  of  Miss  Britnnnia 
O'Riley,  an  i  can  prove  her  identity,  she  ia  «ole  faeireu  to 


THE     OLD     MAN'S     DARLING.  268 

the  late  Earl's  titles  and  estates,  and  Countess  of  Clonmach- 
nois  in  her  own  right.  I  shall  do  myself  the  honor  of  wait- 
ing upon  you,  in  relation  to  this  subject,  in  the  course  of 
th«  week. 

"  Sir,  yours,  most  respectfully, 

"  JAMES  FROBISHEB  " 

The  letter  dropped  from  the  hands  of  General  Stuart- 
Gordon,  and  a  mortal  coldness  and  weakness  seized  hit 
frame  ;  his  heart  sunk. 

"  This  is  a  blow.  Just  Heaven  !  this  is  a  blow.  Within 
three  days  of  my  marriage,  too." 

And  he  arose  and  walked  up  and  down  the  floor,  with  his 
hands  clasped  behind  his  back,  and  his  head  bowed  upon 
his  bosom,  as  was  his  custom  when  troubled. 

"  Well — well  1  well — well !  this  is  severe — this  is  heavy  1 
She  will  no  longer  have  a  reason  for  marrying  a  man  old 
enough  to  be  her  father — and  yet  I  would  have  made  her 
happy.  I  feel  that  I  should  have  done  so.  But  it  is  over, 
it  is  over,  this  last,  last  dream.  Countess  of  Clonmach- 
nois  1  Oh,  Brighty,  after  all,  will  you  ever  meet  with  one 
who  will  cherish  you  tenderly  as  I  have  done  ?" 

General  Stuart-Gordon  did  not  go  to  bed  that  night. 
Early  the  next  morning,  without  saying  one  word  upon  the 
subject  to  any  member  of  his  family,  he  took  pen,  ink,  and 
paper,  and  wrote  the  following  note  to  Britannia  : — 

"IsLE  OP  RAYS,  May  15th. 

11  DEAREST  BRITANNIA  :  Let  your  most  earnest  and  sin- 
cere friend  be  the  first  to  wish  you  joy  in  your  dawn  of  for- 
tune. I  have  just  received  a  letter  from  the  Secretary  of 
Legation,  and  am  pleased  to  be  the  first  to  announce  to  you 
the  brilliant  change  that  awaits  you — to  be  the  first  to  ad- 
dress you  by  your  new  title. 

"  There !  that  is  as  far  as  I  can  g»,  and  as  much  as  I  cav 


264  TEE     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

do,  Britannia.  I  cannot  offer  you  my  congratulations  ifl 
person ;  I  have  no  strength  to  do  so.  I  am  stricken, 
Brighty — I  am  stricken. 

"  Like  the  slave  in  the  Brazilian  mines,  I  have  found  a 
diamond  of  the  first  water,  only  to  see  it  snatched  from  me, 
and  set  in  a  coronet. 

"  When  I  found  a  young,  beautiful,  accomplished,  and 
amiable  girl,  alone  and  unprotected,  a  girl  of  elegant  man- 
ners and  refined  tastes,  exposed  to  all  the  evils  of  an  unset- 
tled life,  I  had  thought  to  take  that  girl  to  my  bosom,  and, 
by  cherishing  her  tenderly,  to  have  made  her  happy  and 
won  her  affections. 

"  But  all  this  is  changed  now.  The  Countess  of  Clon- 
machuois  has  a  splendid  destiny  before  her.  The  diamond 
will  blaze  all  the  more  brilliantly  when  set  in  the  coronet ; 
Britannia  will  lend  lustre  even  to  the  high  rank  she  will 
reach. 

"  Brighty — for  to  me  you  are  Brighty,  and  no  countess — 
Brighty,  then,  in  three  days  more  we  were  to  have  been 
married.  I  know  the  strict  integrity  of  your  heart,  and  I 
know  that  you  would  have  kept  your  engagement  under  all 
circumstances,  but  I  release  you  fully  and  freely  from  it. 
I  wish  you  joy.  God  bless  you,  my  dear  Brighty. 

"  I  inclose  you  the  letter  of  the  Secretary  of  Legation, 
There  will  be  no  difficulty  in  proving  your  identity ;  and  I 
need  not  say,  dearest  Britannia,  that  I  am  at  your  command 
always,  to  render  any  service  in  my  power. 

"  Your  friend,  as  ever, 
"  CARTWRIGHT  STUART- GORDON." 

He  folded,  sealed,  and  directed  this  letter,  and  calling 
Apollo,  bade  him  saddle  a  horse,  and  take  it  to  The  Craga. 

Louise  kept  her  room  with  a  nervous  headache  all  that 
day.  Two  weeks  of  crying  hail  completely  exhausted  tht 
delicate  girl. 


THE     OLD     MAN'S     DARLING.  266 

Louis  came  to  breakfast,  looking  disturbed.  Genera) 
Stuart-Gordon  told  him,  gravely,  to  take  comfort;  that 
the  evil  fates  would  probably  be  conciliated  by  the  sacrifice 
of  one  member  of  any  one  family,  and  that  iliat  member 
would  probably  be  himself.  And,  without  explaining  hii 
meaning  further,  General  Stuart-Gordon  left  the  oak  parlor, 
»nd  shut  himself  up  alone  in  his  library,  trying  to  read  a 
Hebrew  dictionary,  placed  upside  down  before  him.  He 
iid  not  go  down  to  dinner. 

Soon  after  dinner,  Apollo  Belv4dere  returned  from  hia 
errand  to  The  Crags,  and  rapped  at  the  door  of  the  library. 

"  Come  in,"  groaned  the  General. 

And  Apollo  came  in,  bowing  and  scraping,  and  holding 
his  hat  in  one  hand,  and  a  little  note  in  the  other. 

"  Did  you  find  the  young  lady  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Well,  how  was  she — how  was  the  family  ?" 

"Miss  O'Riley  and  Miss  Soraerville,  sir,  were  well,  sir; 
they  was  a-sittin'  at  the  table,  sir,  and  old  Major  Somer- 
yille,  sir,  he  was  a-prophesying  of  the  Bible,  sir." 

"  Well,  what  is  that  you  have  in  your  hand — a  letter  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

And,  with  another  bow  and  scrape,  Apollo  advanced  and 
handed  the  note. 

It  was  a  little  three-cornered-folded  thing,  and  directed 
in  the  hand  or  Britannia.  He  opened  it  hastily,  and  read 
as  follows : — 

"Will  General  Stuart-Gordon  favor  Britannia  O'Riley 
with  an  interview  this  evening  ?" 

That  was  all. 

"  Saddle  my  horse  quickly,  Apollo — then  come  and  assist 
me  to  dress.  Tell  Seraph  to  bring  me  some  hot  water," 
exclaimel  General  Stuart-Gordon,  rising  hastily,  and  pew 
ing  from  his  library  ou  Vis  way  to  his  bed-chamber 


266  THK     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

In  half  an  hour  General  Stuart-Gordon  was  on  Ll§  romi 
to  The  Crags.  In  two  hours  he  had  arrived. 

The  family  had  just  arisen  from  tea.  Major  Somerville, 
as  usual,  bad  retired  to  rest.  Susan  and  Britannia  were  sew- 
ing, and  Anna  was  reading  "Paradise  and  the  Peri"  aloud 
to  them.  Anna,  ai  was  her  invariable  custom,  as  soon  as  a 
rlstor  entered,  arose  and  withdrew.  General  Stuart-Gordon 
advanced,  bowing. 

"  Good  evening,  my  clear  Miss  Soraerville,"  he  said,  press- 
ing Snsan's  hand.  Then-  going  to  Britannia,  "  How  shall 
I  address  you  now,  madam,  in  offering  again,  and  in  person, 
my  earnest  congratulations  upon  the  splendid  future  open- 
ing before  you  ?"  he  asked,  in  a  very  low  voice. 

Britannia  arose  from  her  seat,  giving  him  her  hand,  and 
looking  at  Susan,  said,  quietly — 

"  My  dear  Miss  Soinerville,  I  wish  to  converse  with  Gen- 
eral Stuart-Gordon  for  a  few  minutes,  if  you  will  give  me 
leave." 

Susan  smilingly  arose  and  left  the  room 

Britannia  reseated  herself,  pointing  out  a  chair  on  the 
apposite  corner  of  the  fireplace  to  the  General.  He  took 
£t,  seated  himself,  and  drawing  up  his  portly  form,  and 
throwing  one  arm  over  the  back  of  the  chair,  addressed  hia 
companion  as  follows  : 

"Well,  Britannia,  I  said  that  I  was  at  your  command, 
and  accordingly,  when  you  summoned  me  to  your  presence, 
I  lost  no  time  in  obeying  you,  though  I  could  have  wished, 
Britannia,  that  you  had  spared  me  the  pain  of  this  inter- 
view— at  least  for  a  few  days — at  least  until  I  had  in  some 
measure  recovered  from  the  shock  of  this  most  heavy  blow, 
and  regained  a  portion  of  my  calmness  and  self-control. 
However,  Britannia,  I  am  here,  and  ready  to  serve  you." 
All  this  time,  Britannia  had  sat  quite  still,  looking  down 
mpon  her  own  wMte  and  jeweled  hands,  that  lay  one  npcn 


THI     OLD     MAN'S     DABLINO.  267 

tho  other  on  her  lap.     She  did  not  speak,  even  now  that 
he  had  finished  his  sentence. 

"Well,  Britannia,  what  do  you  wish  to  do  first?  How 
can  I  assist  you  ?  Tell  ine ;  I  am  quite  at  your  orders. 
Why  do  you  not  reply,  Britannia  ?" 

"  I  do  not  wish  anything  done  until  after  Sunday,  Gen- 
eral," said  Britannia.  General  Stuart-Gordon  started — 
looked  at  her  earnestly.  Sunday  was  to  have  been  their 
wedding-day. 

"  Oh,  Britannia !  But  this  allusion  is  thoughtless  or 
wanton  on  your  part." 

"  Why,  General  ?  Have  we  not  enough  to  keep  us  busy 
ontil  Sunday  ?  After  Sunday,  can  we  not  take  Baltimore 
and  Washington  in  our  route,  and  attend  to  this  business  ?" 

"  Oh,  Britannia,  cease  to  torture  me.  You  know  that 
this  is  all  changed— all— all— all !" 

"  Then  you  do  really  mean  to  break  with  me,  General  ?" 

"I  do  really  mean  to  release  you  from  your  engagement 
to  myself,  Britannia." 

"  And  upon  what  account  ?'' 

"  Upon  account  of  the  new  and  brilliant  position  in  which 
you  will  shortly  find  yourself.  I  told  you  my  reasons  in  my 
letter."  Britannia  arose  from  her  seat,  and  coming  around, 
rested  her  hand  upon  the  back  of  his  chair,  while  she  asked 
gravely — 

"  My  friend,  why  did  you  write  that  letter  to  me  ?" 

"Brighty,  oh  Brighty,  all  is  over!  You  know  that  I 
feel  it  too  well — too  surely — too  powerfully." 

*'  My  friend,  this  grows  very  serious.  Explain  yourself," 
said  Britannia,  very  gravely. 

"  Britannia,  my  letter  explained  this.  Do  not  affect  to 
misunderstand  me." 

"Your  letter  and  jour  conversation,  General  Stuart- 
Gordon,  coincide  perfectly — neither  contradicting  the  otker 
Both,  however,  are  uniutelligib\  to  m*." 


268  THE     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

"Howl  DD  you  not  understand  that  by  the  death  of 
your  great-grandfather,  the  aged  Earl  of  Clonmachnois, 
and  by  the  previous  demise  of  every  intervening  heir,  you 
are  left  sole  heiress  of  his  titles  and  estates,  and  that  you 
are,  at  this  moment,  Countess  of  Clonmachnois  in  your  own 
right  ?  Do  you  not  understand  that?" 

"Yes  !  I  understand,  believe,  and  accept  that,  as  though 
it  were  one  of  the  thirty-nine  articles  of  the  Christian  faith," 
exclaimed  Brighty,  lifting  her  eyes,  gleaming  with  pride 
and  mirth,  to  his  face. 

"You  do  I"  exclaimed  the  General,  irritated  and  offended 
at  her  smile.  "  Then  you  understand  that  you  may  choose 
from  the  elite  of  young  aristocracy  !  You  understand  that 
there  is  now  no  necessity  to  sacrifice  yourself  to  an  elderly 
man,  whom  you  cannot  love  !"  Britannia  had  kept  her 
eyes  steadily  on  him  during  this  sharp  speech.  At  its  close 
ehe  drew  her  elegant  form  up  to  its  proudest  height,  lifted 
her  regal  head  until  her  ringlets,  though  drooping,  scarcely 
reached  her  bosom,  and  said,  lowly  and  slowly — 

"  My  position  necessarily  exposes  me  to  many  humilia- 
tions, but  that  which  is  most  difficult  to  bear  is  a  taunt 
from  General  Stuart-Gordon  I" 

All  the  chivalry  of  Virginia  started  in  his  veins  to  re- 
proach him  for  this  rudeness.  He  arose,  and  with  a  stately 
suavity  took  her  hand,  bowed  over  it,  and  said,  gravely — 

"  Forgive  me,  madam !  Make  some  allowance  for  the 
many  disturbances  of  my  mind  by  this  sudden  and  grievous 
calamity — the  loss  of  a  treasure  so  nearly  received." 

"Sir!"  said  Britannia,  "a  girl  who  would  have  accepted 
/our  hand  from  merely  convenient  motives,  is  no  treasure 
to  be  regretted  1" 

"  Bat,  Britannia,  recollect.  Ton  said,  yourself,  that  you 
did  not  love  me."  And  his  whole  frame  shook,  as  he  wiped 
the  perspiration  from  his  brow. 

"  Nor  do  I,  as  poets,  painters,  and  playeri  understand 


TH1     OLD     MAN'S     DARLING.  269 

the  term.  My  friend,  you  are  seriously  disturbed ;  so 
seriously  disturbed  that  I  must  forget  the  injurious  lan- 
guage you  nse  toward  me,  aud  I  must  try  to  reassure  you ; 
let  us  understand  each  other.  Will  you  sit  down  ?  I  have 
never  seen  you  so  greatly  moved.  I  regret  this  exceed- 
ingly— regret  that  any  circumstances  should  possess  the 
power  of  moving  you  so.  Sir,  I  beseech  you,  recover  your 
•elf-possession — I  scarcely  recognize  General  Stuart-Gordoa 
thus." 

"When  I  am  about  to  lose  you,  Britannia." 
"But  you  are  not  to  lose  me,  my  dearest  friend." 
"  But  you  never  loved  me,  Britannia  ;  and  now,  as  there 
exists  no  necessity  for  your  sacrificing  yourself,  you  shall 
not  do  it." 

"Again!  You  urge  that  point  so  strenuously.  No;  1 
do  not  love  you  after  the  manner  of  young  ladies  who  sigh 
over  sentimental  poetry,  and  die  over  doleful  ditties ;  I  am 
incapable  of  the  thing.  Nor  do  1  lament  ray  incapacity  for 
the  tiapricious  and  evanescent  emotion  ;  but  I  have  a  very 
profound  friendship  for  you,  General — a  friendship  that  I 
have  for  no  other  human  being — and  a  very  high  respect  for 
you,  a  respect  that  makes  me,  with  all  my  pride,  regret  that 
I  have  the  power  of  moving  you  so ;  and  I  have  to  bring 
to  mind  David,  Solomon,  Marc  Antony,  and  all  the  great 
heroes  of  antiquity,  who  in  the  grave  autumn  of  their  lives 
have  thus  forgotten  their  high  self-appreciation,  in  order  to 
understand  you,  sir  1" 

"  It  is  because  you  love  me  not,  while  I  love  you,  Britain 
nia  I"  said  General  Stuart-Gordon,  pressing  har  hand  with 
grave  tenderness.  "  Brighty,  I  had  hoped,  by  blessing  your 
life  with  all  my  power,  to  have  won  your  heart.  What  can 
I  offer  you  that  the  world  will  not  lay  at  your  feet  ?" 

Again  that  inexplicable  gleaming  smile  of  suppressed 
and  self-mocking  mirth  puzzled  and  answered  the  General, 
Kiting  with  Ugnity,  he  laid — 


270  THE     MO  THEE -IN -LAW. 

"  This  has  continued  long  enough,  madam.  I  am  at  youf 
lervice  when  you  please  to  advise  me  of  any  assistance  I 
can  render  you  in  this  affair.  Good  evening,  madam. 
Pray  make  my  excuses  to  Miss  Somerville.  Once  more, 
good  evening,  madam ;"  and,  bowing  very  low,  General 
Stuart-Gordon  raised  his  hat  from  the  table,  and  was  pass- 
ing out.  But  just  as  his  hand  was  laid  upon  the  lock  of 
the  door,  the  jeweled  fingers  of  Brighty  fell  upon  his  wriit 
He  tnrned  around. 

"Will  yon  come  back  r 

"At  your  command,  madam." 

"  Will  you  sit  down  ?" 

He  replied  by  seating  himself,  throwing  himself  back,  and 
preparing  to  listen  to  her. 

"It  is  a  great  thing  to  get  a  character  for  integrity, 
fidelity,  and  magnanimity ;  and  I  should  like  very  well  to 
own  such  a  one,"  said  Brighty,  as  if  communing  with  her- 
lelf;  "unfortunately  for  the  success  of  my  wish,  this  dear 
General  contends  the  crown  of  generosity  with  me  1  Well ! 
let  him  take  it!"  Then  turning  to  where  General  Stuart- 
Gordon  sat  in  offended  majesty,  she  said — 

"  I  am  Countess  of  Cloumachnois  in  my  own  right,  am  I 
not  1" 

"  I  presume  there  can  be  no  doubt  of  the  question, 
madnm  ?" 

"  Of  Castle  Clonmachnois,  Athlone,  ?onnty  of  Westmeath, 
Ireland." 

"Correct  as  a  city  directory,  madam." 

"  That  has  a  very  magnificent  sound !  It  is  quite  u 
brilliant  as  the  flashing  of  the  frost  and  ice  that  lay  upoa 
the  dead  flowers  in  the  garden  of  Mont  Crystal." 

"  Yea  Britannia,"  said  the  General,  gravely  and  motra- 
fully,  acd  again  overcome  in  her  presence,  "yaa,  Britaaala, 
but  my  life  ii  the  blighted  winter  garde*,  aad  jovr  fortnoi 


TH1     OLD     MJLK'8     DARLING.  271 

<*T6  the  ice  and  sleet  that  hare  killed  it  with  cold  brilliance, 
*nd  covered  it  with  a  frozen  and  glittering  shroud." 

"  That  is  to  say,  my  title,  if  I  return  to  Ireland,  Conntesi 
of  Clonmachnois,  and  my  estates,  the  castle  and  lands  of 
Clonmachnois  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  Oh !  the  vast  difference  between  names  and  things  I  A 
month  ago  I  was  called  by  Mrs.  Armstrong  a  dependent, 
while  I  was  simply  myself,  Britannia  O'Riley ;  to-day  I  am 
called  Countess  of  Cloumachnois,  still  being  myself,  Britan- 
nia O'Riley ! — a  wayward  girl,  with  some  natural  graces, 
and  some  acquired  accomplishments — very  proud — not  of 
the  accident  of  birth,  but  by  the  accident  of  an  unusual  de- 
velopment of  the  brain  in  the  region  of  self-esteem.  Listen 
to  me,  sir !  I  was  proud  as  a  Governess.  I  could  not  be 
prouder  as  an  Empress  !  I  could  not  be  unfaithful,  un- 
grateful, inconstant,  as  either  ?"  Here  Brighty  dashed  the 
flashing  tears  from  her  eyes,  and  went  on — 

"  Set  yourself  at  rest,  my  dearest  and  best  friend.  If 
there  is  any  generosity,  it  will  be  upon  your  part,  who  will 
take  a  petulant  and  penniless  girl  to  your  heart  and  home  I" 
and  stooping  down,  Brighty  offered  her  cheek  to  his  kiss. 

"  Penniless,  Brighty  1"  he  exclaimed,  in  scarcely  repressed 
astonishment. 

"  Yes,  listen  I  This  Castle  of  Clonmachnois !  It  is  a 
ruin — not  half  as  good  as  this  old  house  we  sit  in.  The 
estates  of  Clonmachnois  consist  of  some  two  or  three  hun- 
dred acres  of  unreclaimed  and  unreclaimable  morass.  Tha 
rent  of  Clonmachnois  might  scarcely  be  collected  from  a 
few  half-naked  and  half-starved  wretches,  who  have  found 
miserable  shelter  in  the  mud  huts  built  upon  the  meagre 
spots  of  half  dry  land  that  are  dotted  about  in  the  bog,  like 
iteppiug-stones  in  a  marsh.  The  rast  Earl  of  Clonmachnoii 
died,  since  he  is  dead,  in  the  deepest  poverty — his  sons  and 
grandsons  having  perished  before,  in  their  efforts  to  retrieve 


272  THE     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

their  fortunes — some  under  the  burning  sun  of  HindosUn. 
some  amid  the  snows  of  Uppe:  Canada,  and  some  in  the 
forests  of  Brazil.  All  that  retrains  to  me  is  the  barren 
title — the  bitter  mockery.  Oh  !  for  Heaven's  sake,  General, 
keep  it  a  secret,  lest  democratic  Virginia  should  amuse 
itself  at  the  expense  of  the  beggar  Countess  1  I  have  not 
pride  enough  to  defy  ridicule.  Only  Mrs.  Armstrong  haa 
pride  enough  for  that." 

General  Stuart-Gordon  was  somewhat  relieved  ;  still,  with 
a  shade  of  uneasiness,  lie  inquired — 

"But  how  know  you  all  this,  Britannia?" 

"  Oh  1  from  the  correspondence  of  my  father  and  my 
uncles — old  letters  in  my  possession." 

"  These  will  be  necessary  to  prove  your  identity,  if  there 
is  any  call  for  them.  Dearest  Britannia,  I  am  so  relieved." 

"  That  I  have  not  a  fortune." 

"it  is  selfish,  Britannia,  but  it  is  human." 

"i  wish  I  had  a  fortune  to  bring  you." 

•'  And  I  wish  to  confer  every  thing  upon  you,  Brighty." 

"  But  I  do  not  understand  why  this  English  Secretary  of 
Legation  should  take  such  an  interest  in  discovering  a  beg- 
gared heiress." 

"  Nor  I,  Britannia ;  and  it  gives  me  uneasiness.  Depend 
upon  it,  Britannia,  this  inheritance  is  not  the  trifle  you 
think  it." 

And  rising  now,  as  it  was  getting  late,  he  took  his  leave, 
and  departed.  Returning  home  with  a  somewhat  lighter 
heart  than  he  had  set  out  with,  still  he  wondered  why  any 
one  should  take  the  trouble  of  advertising  the  heiress  of  a 
ruin  half  sunk  in  a  bog. 

The  mystery  was  soon  explained. 

The  next  morning,  as  General  Stuart-Gordon  sat  upon 
the  piazza,  enjoying  his  cigar,  his  paper,  and  the  beautiful 
landscape  stretched  out  before  him,  he  saw  a  traveling 


THE     OLD     MAN'S     Di.BLIJT«.  27* 

•arriag}  descend  the  road  leading  from  a  neighboring 
Tillage,  and  taking  th«  direction  to  the  little  bridge,  recently 
constructed,  connectu  g  the  bank  of  the  river  with  The  Isle 
of  Rays,  pass  over  it,  and,  entering  upon  the  circular  car- 
riage road  leading  to  the  front  entrance  of  the  mansion, 
drive  slowly  up  and  pause.  The  coachman  jumped  from 
the  box,  opened  the  door,  let  down  the  steps,  and  stood 
aside  to  let  a  gentleman  descend.  The  General  arose,  and 
advanced  to  receive  his  visitor.  He  was  a  neatly  and  ele- 
gantly dressed  man,  of  about  twenty-six  years  of  age,  tall, 
slender,  handsome,  dark-complexioned,  and  of  very  graceful 
manners  and  charming  address. 

"  I  have  the  honor  of  addressing  General  Stuart-Gor- 
don ?" 

"  That  is  my  name,  sir." 

"I  am  James  Frobisher,  of  the  British  Embassy." 

"  I  am  happy  to  see  you,  sir.  Walk  in,"  said  the  Gene- 
ral, bowing,  and  leading  the  way  to  the  oak  parlor. 

"  I  shall  feel  obliged  if  you  will  grant  me  a  private  inter- 
view, sir." 

"  Certainly,  sir,  with  great  pleasure.  Will  you  accom- 
pany me  to  the  library  ?" 

The  handsome  visitor  bowed  gracefully,  and  followed  his 
conductor  to  the  library.  As  soon  as  they  were  seated — 

"  I  presume,  sir,  that  I  am  speaking  to  the  guardian  of 
Miss  Britannia  O'Riley  ?"  inquired  the  visitor. 

"  Sir,  I  am,  in  some  sort,  the  guardian  of  that  young 
lady." 

"  Yon  know  her  intimately,  then  ?" 

"  I  do,  sir." 

"  Where  was  she  educated  ?    What  is  she  like  f " 

"At  Hartford,  Connecticut,  sir;  and  she  is  Ufa  a  beau- 
tiful, elegant,  and  accf  mplished  woman." 

'I  am  pleased  to  hear  you  say  so,  sir.     Is  she  at  youi 


274  THE     MOTHBB-IK-LAW. 

aouse  at  this  time  ?  If  so,  bow  soon  can  I  be  presented  ta 
her?" 

"  Sir,  the  young  ady  is  at  present  on  a  visit  of  »ora« 
weeks  to  &  young  friend,  whose  residence  is  two  miles  dis- 
tant. If  you  wish  it,  I  will  send  a  messenger  to  announce 
your  visit  at  any  hour  you  may  name." 

"Thank  you,  sir.  Will  it  be  asking  too  much  of  your 
goodness  to  request  your  company  on  this  visit  ?" 

"  Oh,  no,  sir ;  I  will  attend  you  with  pleasure,  at  any 
time." 

"  Then  the  sooner  the  better,  my  dear  sir,  as  I  am  impa- 
tient to  be  presented  to  this  young  lady." 

General  Stuart-Gordon  rung  the  bell  and  said — 

"I  will  send  a  messenger  immediately  to  announce  our 
visit,  and  we  will  set  out  in  half  an  hour.  Excuse  me  a 
moment,  sir,"— and,  going  to  a  writing-table,  he  wrote — 

"  MY  DEAREST  BRITANNIA — Mr.  Frobisher  is  here,  and 
we  will  both  be  with  you  in  an  hour. 

"  C.  S-G." 

and  folded  it,  just  as  Apollo  made  his  appearance  at  the 
door. 

"  Take  this  to  Mias  O'  Riley."  The  man  bowed  and 
withdrew. 

"As  you  are  the  young  lady's  guardian,  and  as  I  have  but 
a  few  days  to  remain,  I  will  tell  you,  sir,  the  motive  of  my 
anxiety  to  be  presented  tc  her.  In  a  word,  it  is  this :  The 
Castle  of  Clonmachnois  is  a  ruin ;  the  estates  are  dwindled 
down  to  a  few  acres  of  marsh  land,  tenanted  by  a  few 
wretched  peasants,  who  are  Lot  able  to  pay  for  the  mud 
huts  in  which  they  starve." 

"Thw  coincides  with  what  I  have  heard  from  the  young 
lady  herself,  sir." 

"Nothing,  therefore,  remains  but  tht  title.4 


TMB     OLD     MAN'S     DARLIN*.  ITS 

"That  is  understood,  sir." 

"  Well,  sir ;  I  am  a  distant  relative  of  the  familj  of  Olon- 
machnois.  I  have  an  ample  fortune,  and  am  under  no  ne- 
cessity to  mnrry  an  heiress  of  property.  I  wish  to  get  in- 
to the  House  of  Peers,  for  the  sake  of  serving  there 
the  interests  of  Ireland.  My  father  has  interest  at  Court, 
and  has  obtained  for  me  the  promise  of  the  reversion  of  the 
title  of  Earl  of  Clonmachnois,  in  the  event  of  my  marrying 
the  heiress  of  that  house." 

General  Stuart-Gordon  did  not  reply.  He  sat  staring  at 
the  young  and  handsome  speaker  with  the  frank  and  grace- 
ful manners,  as  though  he  had  been  the  Gorgou  that  had  turned 
him  into  stone.  Happily  the  General  sat  with  his  back  to 
the  window,  so  that  the  young  man  could  not  see  the  dis- 
may blanching  his  countenance  as  he  continued  his  dis- 
course— 

"  Yes ;  that  is  the  reason  why  I  wish,  without  delay,  to  be 
presented  to  this  young  lady,  to  see  whether  she  is  by  edu- 
cation and  manners  fitted  to  be  introduced  to  London  soci- 
ety." 

"  Sir,"  said  the  General,  "  I  have  never  seen  a  more  ele- 
gant or  accomplished  woman  than  Britannia  O'Riley.  Yon 
will  see  her,  however,  this  morning.  There  is  no  carriage 
road  leading  from  the  Isle  of  Bays  to  The  Crags,  so  that  we 
•hall  have  to  get  into  the  saddles ;"  and  again  ringing  the  bell. 
General  Stuart-Gordon  gave  directions  for  two  horses  to  be 
•addled.  In  a  few  minutes  the  two  gentlemen  were  on 
horseback,  and  ambling  toward  The  Crags,  the  younger 
traveler  stopping  frequently  in  the  ascent,  and  turning  to 
look  with  a  poet's  enthusiasm  at  the  entrancing  beauty,  sub- 
limity, and  splendor  of  the  landscape  of  mountains,  rocks, 
falls,  river,  isle,  and  verdant  banks,  with  all  the  glories  of 
the  earth  and  sky,  doubled  and  reflected  in  the  clear  water 

"  Why,  this  is  a  scene  of  divine  beauty.  There  is  nothing 
t»  the  Rhine  like  this.  Nothing  in  Bwitierland,  or  Italy, 


276  THE     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

like  this.  The  Isle  of  Rays !  It  scintillates  and  sparklet 
like  a  diamond.  Emits  lines  of  light  like  a  cluster  of  dart- 
ing  sunbeams.  I  wish  my  friend  Turner  were  here,  to 
gketeh  this  Eden." 

Moody  and  silent,  the  General  scarcely  heard  or  replied 
to  the  enthusiastic  admiration  of  his  companion.  They 
reached  The  Crags  at  last,  rapped,  were  admitted.  Bri- 
tannia aud  Susan  Somerville  arose  to  receive  their  visitors, 
General  Stuart-Gordon  presented  "  Mr.  Frobisher."  BrU 
tannia  received  him  with  a  curtsy,  and  placing  her  hand 
in  that  of  the  General,  returned  the  pressure  with  which  he 
greeted  it.  General  Stuart-Gordon  looked  from  Britannia 
to  Frobisher,  to  note  their  mutual  effect  upon  each  othe/. 
He  saw  in  Frobisher  the  surprise,  the  quick  and  ardent  ad- 
miration he  expected  to  find.  He  saw  in  Britannia  the  im- 
passible dignity,  presenting  the  cold  and  brilliant  surface 
that  ever  distinguished  her  manners  to  strange  gentlemen. 
They  were  all  seated.  The  presence  of  Susan  Somerville 
restrained  conversation  upon  the  subject  of  the  inheritance. 
They  discussed  general  topics — the  beauty  of  the  spring — 
the  splendor  of  the  landscape  stretching  down  before  them, 
and  visible  at  a  great  distance  from  this  bleak  height.  Then 
they  discussed  Washington,  Mr.  Jefferson,  Thomas  Moore, 
who  was  then  there,  and,  in  short,  everything,  but  the 
business  nearest  the  hearts  of  all.  General  Stt  art-Gordon 
percehed  that  Frobisher's  admiration  of  Britannia  grew  by 
what  it  fed  on.  And  very  soon  he  arose  to  take  his  leare, 
as  this  was  only  an  experimental  visit. 

"  You  have  seen  Miss  O'Riley,  sir,"  said  the  General,  ai 
Boon  as  they  were  on  the  road. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"And  you  aie  pleased  with  her,  no  doubt." 

"  Sir,  I  feel  that  any  praise  of  mine  of  that  yonng  lady, 
would  be  an  impertinence.  She  is  without  a  peer  I" 

roth  gentlemen  now  sunk  into  silence,  each  occupied  with 


THI     OLD     MAM'S     DABLlff*.  177 

ais  own  thoughts.  They  reached  The  Isle  of  Kays  in  time 
for  dinner.  Jealous  as  he  was,  General  Stuart-Gordon, 
with  Virginian  hospitality,  invited  and  pressed  his  visitor  to 
become  his  guest  while  he  should  remain  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, and,  after  some  hesitation,  the  young  man  accepted 
his  invitation,  remarking  that  nothing  in  America  struck 
him  more  forcibly  than  the  resemblance"  between  English 
country  life  and  Virginia  country  life.  That  it  appeared  to 
him  that  the  planters  had  retained,  in  a  great  degree,  the 
domestic  manners  and  customs  of  their  English  fathers. 

At  dinner,  the  young  stranger  was  presented  to  Mr.  Stu- 
art-Gordon. Louise  did  not  make  her  appearance,  nor  did 
the  young  man  see  her  while  he  remained.  It  would  have 
saved  him  from  a  serious  mistake,  and  all  parties  from  much 
future  sorrow,  if  he  had. 

General  Stuart- Gordon  was  absent  and  taciturn  during 
the  meal.  When  the  wine  was  placed  upon  the  table,  the 
General  arose,  and  bidding  Louis  entertain  his  guest,  ex- 
cused himself  upon  the  plea  of  urgent  business,  and  left  the 
room.  In  truth,  he  could  not  stand  his  suspense  any  longer. 
He  must  know  what  impression  Frobisher  had  made  upon 
Britannia.  He  mounted  his  horse,  and  rode  rapidly  up  the 
ascent  of  The  Crags.  It  was  sunset  when  he  started.  The 
full  moon  had  arisen  before  he  was  half-way  up  The  Crags, 
and  was  flooding  with  a  silver  glory  the  whole  refulgent 
landscape ;  but  he  did  not  pause  to  look  at  the  river,  rolling 
on  in  a  torrent  of  light  between  the  dark  rocks,  or  as  The 
Isle  of  Rays,  with  its  rivulets  and  waterfalls,  glanced  ir 
lines  of  silver  light  under  the  moon-beams.  He  saw  neither 
the  glory  of  the  heavens  nor  the  splendor  of  the  earth.  He 
§aw  nothing  but  the  black  shadow  of  the  Crag  House  high 
up  before  him,  and  he  sped  on  toward  it.  The  sweet 
notes  of  the  violin  floated  out  on  the  moonlit  air  as  he 
neared  the  house.  Britannia,  Susan,  and  the  two  women, 
wert  ont  on  th»  porch,  and  George  was  playing  the  flddlt 
17 


278  TMl     MOTHI*-IK-LAW. 

for  them.  Bright^  separated  herself  from  the  party,  and 
advanced  into  the  silver  light  to  meet  him,  just  as  he  had 
got  down  from  his  horse. 

"  I  am  very  glad  you  came  again — very  glad.  That  stiff 
and  formal  call,  this  morning,  could  scarcely  be  called  a 
risit  As  you  may  judge,  I  wanted  to  see  you,  also,  after 
our  comedy  of  yesterday  evening."  Somewhat  startled  by 
the  friendliness  of  her  manner,  he  drew  her  arm  within  his 
own,  and,  instead  of  going  on  to  the  house,  he  took  her  to 
walk  down  the  crags. 

"Well,  Britannia,  what  do  you  think  of  this  young 
Frobisher  ?" 

"  His  person  and  manners  are  faultless,  and  his  dress  th« 
perfection  of  exquisite  elegance — " 

"And  his  mind — his  conversation — what  do  you  think  of 
that,  Britannia  ?" 

"  His  mind  appears  to  he  highly  cultivated,  and  his  con- 
versation at  once  profound  and  brilliant." 

"Oh,  Heaven  I"  growled  the  General.  "Britannia,  do 
you  know  that  this  young  man — this  Adonis  of  the  faultless 
figure  and  face,  and  the  elegant  dress  and  address — this  Apol- 
lo of  the  profound  and  brilliant  discourse — has  come  to  this 
eoontry  with  the  design  of  marrying  you  ?" 

"  Without  ever  having  seen  me  ?  Cool  and  confident, 
that." 

"  Nay  ;  he  wished  to  see  yon,  before  deciding — " 

"A  prudent  precaution,  to  ascertain  if  I  would  pleaat 
him,  and  pass  in  good  English  society.  Very  flattering 
that,  also." 

"  He  is  Tery  much  pleased  with  you,  Britannia — " 

"  How  kind  of  him." 

"  He  admires  you  excessively," 

"  Does  he  ?  '  I'll  be  at  charges  for  a  looking-glaaa,'  and 
•et  up  o'  nights  to  admire  myself." 

"  You  are  gay,  Pritannia." 


TH«     OLD     MAX'*     DABLI*«.  379 

"  Oh !  look  at  the  glorious  heavens  above,  and  look  at 
them  again  reflected  in  the  waters  below ;  see  The  Isle  of 
Rays  coquetting  with  the  moon — glancing  back  laugh  for 
•mile,  and  flash  for  beam  ;  hear  the  cataract  shouting  as  it 
leaps  into  the  river,  dashing  up  millions  of  diamond  sparks ; 
aee  the  solemn  dark  rocks  watching  the  play  with  grave  joy, 
like  demure  chaperons  of  young  folks  at  a  ball.  Oh,  I  am 
glad  and  gay  to-night." 

"I  would  /were  this  young  man,  Britannia." 

"  Well  I  what  is  it  now  ? 

'  Ha  hnras  and  he  hanker*,  he  frets  and  he  cankers, 
Y»a  never  can  please  him,  do  a'  that  you  can  ; 
He's  peevish  and  jealous  of  a'  the  young  fellows.'  " 

inng  Brighty,  changing  her  manner  to  one  of  lightest 
merriment. 

"Be  serious,  Britannia,  for  I  am." 

"Instanter,  sir!     I  am  as  serious  as  an  owl." 

"  I  was  about  to  say  that  this  young  man  will  certainly 
propose  to  you." 

"Exactly!  Now  we  are  going  to  rehearse  yesterday 'a 
scene  over  again." 

"You  are  in  one  of  your  wayward  humors  to-night  Bri- 
tannia." 

"Speak,  sir,  if  yon  please — I  attend,"  said  Brighty,  now 
really  serious. 

"I  wish,  then,  to  set  before  you  the  claims  this  younf 
Frobisher  has  to  your  attention.  You  see  what  his  per- 
sonal merits  are,  beside  which  he  is  wealthy.  He  is  pro- 
mised the  reversion  of  the  title  that  yon  will  bear ;  he  ad- 
mires and  wishes  to  marry  you.  Finally,  he  can  place  yoi 
near  the  head  of  London  society." 

"  Have  you  done,  sir  ?" 

"Yea." 

"  Then,  if  this  gentleman  should  honor  me  with  the  ififcr 
rfhla  hand,  I  should  moat  reapectfully  decline  it" 


260  THS     MOTHER-IIC-LAW. 

14  Why,  Britannia  ?" 

"  Why  ?     First,  because  I  am  pledged." 

"But  I  release  you." 

"  Secondly,  then,  because  I  could  not  be  proud  of  him." 

"Not  proud  of  him — handsome,  elegant,  accomplished 
and  a  member  of  the  English  aristocracy." 

"  No,  I  could  not  honor  him  in  my  heart.  He  wants  the 
prestige  of  age,  wisdom,  a  name  made  glorious  by  himself; 
he  wants  all,  in  fact,  that  I  most  highly  honor  in  you." 

"But,  Britannia,  he  may  gain  all  this — nay,  his  aun  may 
be  rising  to  its  meridian  glory  while  mine  will  be  declin- 
ing." 

"  Lastly,  then,  I  must  refuse  him  because  I  love  you." 

"  Love  me — at  last,  Brighty  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  love  you  at  last,  my  dearest  and  best  friend. 
Hearts  are  not  won  in  a  day — bless  me,"  and  Brighty  turned 
and  dropped  her  head  upon  his  bosom.  He  folded  her  in 
his  arms,  murmuring — 

"  My  boon,  my  blessing,  my  comfort  1  I  do  ble*« — 1 
bless  thee" 

Having  been  duly  apprised  of  the  intended  marriage, 
Mr.  Frobisher  set  out  for  Washington  the  next  day. 

A  month  had  now  passed  away,  during  which  no  inter- 
course was  held  between  Mont  Crystal  and  the  Isle  of  Rays. 
The  separation  of  the  families  was  as  complete  as  though 
the  Atlantic  had  frozen  up  between  them.  Louise,  timid, 
docile,  pliable,  and  ever  under  the  influence  of  those  nearest 
to  her,  made  no  effort  to  rejoin  her  mother,  or  to  reconcile 
the  families.  Louis  continually  cheered  her  with  the  hope 
that  this  estrangement  would  pass  away,  that  all  wonld  b« 
genial  again.  On  the  next  Sabbath-day,  after  morning- 
service,  a  quiet,  respectable  wedding-party  filed  out  of  the 
Boiart-Gordon  pew,  and  arranged  itself  before  the  altar 
It  consisted  of  General  Stuart  Gordon,  attended  by  Brutal 


THE     LAIR.  281 

Lion,  and  Miss  Britannia  O'Riley,  attended  by  Gertrude 
and  in  ten  minutes  from  the  opening  of  the  prayer-book  at 
the  marriage  ceremony,  General  and  Mrs.  Stuart-Gordon 
received  the  congratulations  of  their  friends.  A  traveling- 
carriage,  with  two  out-riders,  was  at  the  church-door.  On 
leaving  the  church,  General  Stuart-Gordon  handed  his  bride 
into  the  carriage,  where  Louis  and  Louise  were  already 
seated,  and  the  whole  party  set  out  on  a  bridal  tour  to 
Niagara  and  the  Lakes. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THl    LAIS. 

The  mountains  t  the  mountain*  !  amidst  them  Is  my  home, 
To  their  pure  and  sparkling  fountains  ernltingly  I  com* ; 
Where  bleak  and  towering  summits  invade  the  dark  blue  sky, 
And  o'er  their  rudest  ridges  upon  my  steed  I  fly. — Dickton. 

THE  Monday  succeeding  the  marriage  of  Britannia  ani 
the  General  was  a  glorious  day.  The  sun  rose  in  cloudless 
splendor,  gilding  the  summits  of  the  Alleghanies  and  throw- 
ing their  shadows  broad  and  black  upon  the  valleys.  And 
all  this  sublime  beauty  of  earth  and  sky  was  reflected  and 
duplicated  in  the  diamond-clear  waters. 

The  songs  of  myriads  of  birds  mingled  with  the  laugh  of 
a  thousand  rivulets  and  the  shouts  of  many  cataracts.  And 
all  this  grand  harmony  was  repeated  and  re-echoed  from 
cavern,  rock,  and  glen. 

ft  was  a  glorious,  jubilant  morning. 

Above  all  this  thunder  of  music  was  sometimes  heard  • 
clear,  strong,  ringing  note.  It  was  the  passing  shout  of 
Gertrude  Lion,  as  she  cleared  an  &irful  chasm,  or  gained  * 


2SS  TM»     MOIHSK-Hf-LAW. 

The  passage  of  the  Mad  River  through  a  defile  of  the 
Alleghanies  is  one  of  the  most  sublime  aud  terrific  scenes  hi 
nature.  Upon  this  all-glorious  morniug  the  traveling  car- 
riage of  young  Frobisher  wound  slowly  up  the  ascent  of 
this  most  fearfd  pass.  The  young  man  had  left  the  Isle 
of  Rays  on  Saturday — had  reached  the  hamlet  of  the  Peaks, 
from  whence  he  had  set  out  upon  this  morning,  with  the 
intention  of  continuing  his  journey.  He  had  left  the  village 
of  the  Peaks  some  miles  behind,  when  his  horses  began  to 
struggle  up  this  steep,  rugged,  and  perilous  ascent  Fro- 
bisher  looked  out  upon  tins  wild  scene  with  all  an  artist's 
enthusiasm,  thoughtless  of  danger. 

Here  the  rocks  seemed  to  have  yawned  apart  to  admit 
the  passage  of  the  river,  or  rather,  to  have  started  apart, 
aghast  at  the  frenzy  of  the  torrent  that  tore  a  passage 
through  their  crags,  and  hurried,  howling,  leaping,  and 
rebounding,  into  the  abyss  far  below. 

Mr»re  and  more  difficult  and  dangerous  became  the 
ascen*;  of  this  pass,  until,  having  gained  the  summit,  they 
began  to  descend. 

Suddenly,  piercing  the  thunder  of  the  cataracts  came  a 
cry— 

"  STOP,  ON  YOUR  LIVES  !     You  have  missed  the  road." 

The  young  man  put  his  head  from  the  carriage  window, 
and  caught  a  glimpse,  high  upon  the  precipice  across  the 
torrent,  of  a  golden-haired  Amazon  in  a  blue  riding-dress, 
upon  a  gigantic  white  horse. 

"  STOP,  ON  YOUR  LIVES  1      DEATH   IS   BEFORE   YOU  1"  sh« 

shouted  again,  with  frantic  gestures.  It  was  too  late! 
With  rapidly  accelerating  velocity,  fie  carriage,  rolling, 
pitching,  and  rebounding,  thundered  down  the  precipice, 
and  was  dashed  to  atoms  on  the  rocks  of  the  abyss  I 

Clearing  the  chasm  by  a  flying  bound,  Gertrude  Lion 
•prang  from  her  horse,  and,  leaping  from  peak  to  pe^k, 
precipitated  herself  down  to  the  scene  of  death  below. 


THX    LAIR.  ass 

With  scowling  precipices  above,  and  overhanging  clifV 
around,  and  jagged  rocks  below,  pitch  dark  was  the  cavern- 
ous abyss  but  for  one  strong  gleam  of  sunlight,  that,  striking 
through  a  cleft  in  the  rocks,  fell  red  upon  the  ghastly  wreck, 
a  mingled  heap  of  broken  shafts  and  wheels,  crushed  and 
writhing  horsec,  and  dead  and  dying  men ! 

One  instant,  aghast  with  horror,  Gertrude  stood,  then  she 
sprang  to  the  spot.  The  horses  were  convulsed  in  their 
last  death-throes.  The  coachman  lay  with  his  form  shat- 
tered out  of  every  resemblance  to  humanity.  She  saw  all 
this  at  a  glance.  A  second  look  showed  her  the  form  of  a 
young  man,  with  his  head,  shoulders,  and  arms,  drooping 
backward  over  the  broken  windows  of  the  carriage.  H« 
hung  there,  pallid,  still,  and  rigid.  This  might  be  from  a 
concussion,  or  a  swoon — there  was  no  proof  of  death  at 
least.  She  saw  that,  and  hastened  to  render  assistance 
where  alone  it  could  be  available,  if  any,  to  him.  She  took 
hold  of  his  shoulders  and  tried  to  draw  him  out  of  the  car 
riage.  Finding  that  a  part  of  the  timbers  had  been  crushed 
apon  his  form,  she  let  him  go,  and  went  to  work  with  her 
strong  hands  and  hunting-knife  until  she  had  cut,  torn,  and 
wrenched  an  opening  large  enough  to  draw  him  through. 
She  took  him  in  her  powerful  arms,  and  laid  his  helpless 
head  over  her  robust  shoulders,  and  her  fine,  fierce  eyes 
rolled  from  precipice  to  peak,  and  from  rock  to  torrent,  in 
learch  of  a  dry,  smooth  spot  on  which  to  lay  the  mangled 
form.  She  saw  nothing  of  the  sort  until  her  eyes  fell  upon 
the  spot  near  her  feet,  where  the  coachman  lay  in  a  heap 
with  the  horses— all  still  in  death. 

She  laid  her  burden  gently  down,  and  with  a  "Poor  fel- 
lows !"  bestowed  impartially  upor  man  and  horses,  she 
stooped  and  with  her  great  strength,  succeeded  in  stretching 
them  out,  and  arranging  them  into  a  sort  of  bed,  to  keep 
the  bruised  form  of  the  living  invalid  from  the  sharp  rocks 
and  framing  water.  Then  she  lifted  her  patient,  and  laid 


him  on  the  heap,  arranging  him  as  tenderly  as  possible—* 
wounded  and  insensible  man,  resting  on  a  couch  formed  of 
the  dead  I 

Seizing  a  crashed  hat  from  the  ground,  she  stooped  to  th« 
water,  and  dipped  it  full.  Kneeling  oa  the  sharp  rocks, 
unmindful  of  the  pain,  she  laved  his  head  and  his  face,  the 
while  gazing  with  a  savage  admiration  at  the  \>ale,  aristo- 
cratic features,  surrounded  by  their  frame  of  black  silky 
hair  and  whiskers. 

"  How  beautiful  he  is  I  how  beautiful !  she  said,  lifting 
the  delicate  hand,  and  examining  with  a  half  savage,  half 
childish  curiosity  the  white  and  tapering  fingers,  one  of 
which  was  encircled  with  a  rich  seal  ring.  "  Beautiful  as  a 
sun-gilded  cloud  I  beautiful  as  a  mountain  rainbow!  Oh! 
I  hope  he  will  not  die."  And  she  renewed  her  efforts  to  re- 
cover him.  "  What  shall  I  do  ?  Oh  !  what  shall  I  do  f 
What  do  people  do  for  dead  people  ?  I  mean  drowned 
people — no,  killed  people  ?  Oh  !  they  bleed  them.  The 
doctor  bled  Brutus  when  he  was  thrown  from  his  horse,  and 
had  his  head  broken — stop" — she  took  her  hunting-knife, 
and  felt  its  point — then  flying  to  a  rock,  she  sharpened  it — 
then  running  back  to  her  patient,  she  ripped  up  his  coat- 
sleeve,  and  bared  his  arm,  encircling  it  with  her  thumb  and 
finger,  and  compressing  it,  she  started  up  the  vein.  Then 
gazing  on  the  fair  transparent  skin,  with  the  bine  veins 
meandering  beneath,  she  paused.  For  the  very  Qrst  time  in 
her  life  the  rock  of  her  heart  was  smitten,  and  a  fount  of  pity 
and  tenderness  gushed  forth  into  a  flood  of  tears,  that  rolled 
flashing  down  her  face,  like  one  of  the  sparkling  waterfalls 
of  her  native  mountains. 

"  Oh  1  what  shall  I  do  1  I  cannot!  No,  I  cannot  stick 
this  ghastly  blade  into  that  fair  arm.  Oh  I  I  cannot !  i' 
would  give  him  so  much  pain.  But  if  I  do  not  he  will  die 
Yes,  he  will  dissolve  away  from  me,  beautiful  and  evan«* 
wnt  as  the  rainbow  of  this  morning." 


THE     LJLIB.  ttft 

She  opened  the  vein,  and,  as  the  blood  began  to  flow, 

Hie  young  man  slowly  unclosed  his  eyes. 

"  How  do  you  feel  ?  Do  you  know  me  ?  (Yes,  that  was 
what  the  doctor  said  to  Brutus,  when  he  opened  his  eyes 
after  the  bleeding.)  How  do  you  feel  ?  Do  you  know  me  ?" 

But  a  spasm  convulsed  the  young  man's  face,  and  he 
fainted  again. 

"  Oh  I  Heavens  I  what  shall  I  do  now  ?"  exclaimed  Ger- 
trude, as  she  cut  off  the  linen  sleeve  of  his  shirt,  stripped  it 
up,  and  bound  up  his  arm.  "  I  must  get  him  home  to  The 
Lair  ;  but  oh  !  I  am  fearful  that  he  cannot  bear  the  removal." 

She  dashed  water  in  his  face.     He  revived  again. 

"  Do  you  know  me  now  ?"  she  asked,  fixing  her  eyes  ear- 
nestly on  his  countenance.  He  looked  at  her  with  a  trou- 
bled expression,  and  closed  his  eyes,  as  if  in  weariness, 
while  spasms  of  pain  traversed  his  countenance. 

"  Oh  I  if  I  could  get  a  doctor  here  !  but  that  is  impossi- 
ble— neither  man  nor  beast  but  myself,  or  some  poor,  hunted, 
desperate  fugitive  slave,  could  reach  this  frightful  wild.  I 
must  try  to  get  him  home  to  The  Lair."  She  attempted 
to  raise  him,  but  spasms  of  agony  convulsed  his  whole  frame 
on  being  moved.  "  Oh  !  I  could  carry  him  home,  but  the 
removal  would  kill  him.  What  shall  I  do  with  him  ?  Let's 
see — these  rocks  are  full  of  caverns,  the  occasional  retreats 
of  runaway  slaves.  I  must  find  one  as  a  temporary  shelter." 

And  laying  the  wounded  man  down  gently,  she  started 
off,  diligently  searching  among  the  rocks.  At  last  she  came 
to  the  opening  of  a  cavern.  Entering  it,  she  saw  that  it 
was  smooth,  though  not  level,  and  quite  dark.  Stripping 
off  her  blue  cloth  pelisse,  she  laid  it  down  as  a  pallet ;  re- 
turning to  the  side  of  her  invalid,  she  gently  drew  him  away 
from  the  body  of  the  coachman,  stripped  the  c2othes  from 
the  dead  man,  and  carrying  them  off  to  the  cavern,  laid  a 
part  of  them  on  the  pelisse,  to  make  it  softer,  and  rolled  up 
a  part  of  them  ai  s  pillow,  and  placed  it  at  the  head. 


t$4  TMI     MOTHEK-IN-LAW. 

returning  to  her  patient,  she  raised  him  in  her  arms,  laid 
his  head  gently  over  her  shoulder,  and  bore  him  carefully 
along  till  she  reached  the  cavern.  Here  she  laid  him  down 
tenderly,  and  going  to  a  waterfall  close  by,  she  511ed  the 
hat,  and  returning,  made  him  drink  a  portion,  and  bathed 
bis  face,  head,  and  hands  with  the  rest.  Suddenly  a  noise 
In  the  darkest  recesses  of  the  cavern  startled  her.  Think- 
ing of  a  wolf,  she  drew  her  hunting-knife,  and  stood  upon 
her  defense.  The  animal  came  out  from  his  lair,  and  stood 
before  her,  amazed,  as  one  startled  from  sleep — a  wild,  hag- 
gard, half-famished  fugitive  slave,  in  tattered  garments. 
Getrade  Pxx)d  on  her  defense  with  the  raised  knife.  The 
man  glared  at  her,  a^ery  wolf  of  desperation  and  ferocity. 
He  seemed  to  measure  her  size  and  strength,  and  then  made 
a  step  toward  her. 

"  Stand  1"  shouted  the  Amazon ;  and  the  man  stood, 
arrested  as  by  a  shock.  "  Advance  another  step,  and  this 
knife  is  sheathed  in  your  heart,  and  you  are  hurled  to  the 
bottom  of  these  precipices.  I  am  Gertrude  Lion,  and  you 
know  me.  But,  pause,  and  listen,  and  I  may  do  you  good." 
The  haggard  and  wolfish  features  of  the  slave  relaxed  a 
little,  as  he  said,  in  a  hoarse  voice — 

"And  you'll  not  set  the  constables  on  me,  Miss  Ger- 
trude f" 

"Explode  the  constables!  no,  I'd  do  yon  good,  I  said. 
Listen ;  I  know  you,  Antony,  you  are  Mrs.  Annstrong'i 
fugitive  slave.  Now,  I  don't  adore  Mrs.  Armstrong  my- 
self, and  if  you  will  do  me  a  favor,  I  will  assist  your  escape 
from  the  State." 

"What  is  it,  then,  Miss  Gertrude  f" 
"You  see  this  wounded  boy  ?  He  was  half  killed  by  the 
breaking  of  his  carriage ;  he  is  too  ill  to  be  removed ;  watch 
by  him  here,  bathe  his  face  and  hands,  and  keep  ap  his 
•trength  by  pouring  water  down  his  throat,  while  I  return 
to  The  Lai1  to  fetch  necessaries  for  him." 


TAX     L  A  I  B.  237 

"  But  if  you  should  bring  a  posse  with  you  to  take  mr,. 
Miss  Gertrude." 

"  Why  should  I  ?  Besides,  would  any  venture  their  neck 
ID  this  terrible  descent  ?" 

"That  is  true  enough." 

"And  Jam  true." 

"  And  so  you  are,  Miss  Gertrude." 

"Certainly;  reassure  yourself ;  and  here,  take  my  knife. 
Now  nurse  your  patient  tenderly,  while  I  am  gone,  and 
when  I  return,  I  will  not  forget  you ;  I  will  bring  you 
food,  clothing,  and  a  pass  that  will  enable  you  to  leave  the 
State." 

Then  kneeling,  and  placing  her  hand  once  more  upon  the 
pallid  brow  of  her  patient,  and  arranging  his  rude  couch, 
she  arose  and  hurried  from  the  cavern,  clambered  up  the 
rugged  ascent,  and  sprang  from  peak  to  peak,  until  she  had 
gained  the  spot  where  she  had  left  her  horse.  He  was  no 
longer  there.  Placing  her  fingers  to  her  lips,  she  blew  a 
clear,  shrill  call,  and  soon  her  white  horse  came  ambling  up 
the  side  of  the  precipice  toward  her.  She  placed  her  hand 
upon  his  neck,  leaped  into  the  saddle,  and  sped  like  an 
arrow  from  the  bow  toward  The  Lair. 

It  was  late  in  the  morning  before  she  returned,  with  linen, 
wine,  and  food.  She  found  Antony  faithfully  watching  his 
patient.  With  the  aid  of  the  restoratives  she  had  brought, 
the  young  man  revived. 

"  Now,  Antony,"  she  said,  "  we  must  move  him ;  but  first, 
here  is  the  pass  I  wrote  for  you." 

She  took  it  out  and  read  it — 

"  Antony  Burgess  has  my  permission  to  again  pass  a»d 
re-pass  from  Peakville  to  Alexandria,  free  of  molestation, 
between  the  first  of  June  and  the  first  of  July  inclusive. 

"OKttTRUDE   LlOS". 

Ob.,  **» 


288  THB     MOTH1B-I1T-L1.W. 

"  There,  Antony,  that  is  exactly  the  pass  that  I  give  *"  mj 
own  men  when  they  want  to  go  to  town.  Now,  it  is  tvue, 
that  you  are  not  my  own  man,  but  that  is  no  reason  why  I 
should  not  give  you  my  consent  to  go  where  yon  please, 
since  I  have  no  objection  to  it ;  and  so,  when  you  present 
that,  people  will  naturally  think  it  comes  from  your  owner. 
And  even  if  it  fails,  it  cannot  get  you  or  me  into  trouble, 
•ince  I  only  express  my  consent.  Now,  Antony,  since 
they  cannot  be  removed  from  this  abyss,  first  inter  that  poor 
dead  coachman,  and  then  take  his  clothes,  dress  yourself, 
take  this  food  and  wine,  and  this  purse,  and  God  bless 
you." 

"  Shan't  I  help  you  to  tote  the  young  gentleman  up  the 
rocks,  Miss  Gertrude  ?" 

"  Oh,  no ;  two  carrying  one  burden  could  not  climb  the 
ticent,  you  know." 

"  Sure  enough,  Miss ;  but  can't  I  tote  him  myself?" 

"  No,  no — you  could  not  do  it  tenderly  enough  ;  besides, 
I  doubt  whether  yon  are  now  strong  enough.  No,  do  yon 
attend  to  what  is  left  behind ;  bnry  the  poor  dead  coacii- 
man,  and  don't  forget  to  recite  the  ten  commandments  over 
the  grave.  Now,  good  by."  And  shaking  hands  with 
him,  Gertrude  turned  and  lifted  up  her  patient. 

"  No,  no — do  not ;  yon  cannot,"  muttered  the  young 
man,  in  a  feeble  voice — now  seeming,  for  the  first  time,  to 
note  what  was  going  on. 

"  Hush,"  replied  Gertrude,  laying  his  head  tenderly  over 
her  shoulder,  while  she  let  his  arm  rest  npon  her  bosom,  and 
drooped  her  own  head,  unconsciously  caressingly,  over  hii 
silky  curls. 

She  left  the  cavern,  and  carefully  picking  her  way  among 
the  rocks,  not  to  jolt  her  patient,  began  to  climb  the  ascent, 
with  unusual  difficulty. 

"  Oh,  do  no     do  not ;    you  will  hurt  yourself,"  v«o 


THK     LAIR.  289 

feintly  muranred  the  young  man,  feeb  y  straggling  to  get 
down. 

"  Hush,  hush — there,  there,  be  still — that's  a  dear  boy ; 
be  easy — that's  a  good  boy." 

He  was  still,  from  exhaustion,  until  they  had  nearly 
reached  the  ascent,  when  the  youth  again  grew  restive. 

"  Come,  come,  lie  still :  be  quiet,  or  I'll  get  mad,  and  I 
am  dangerous  when  I'm  mad ;  ask  any  one  if  I'm  not," 
said  Gertrude,  as,  resting  a  moment  with  her  burden,  she 
raised  her  fingers  to  her  lips,  and  blew  the  shrill,  clear  call, 
that  brought  her  white  horse  bounding  toward  her.  Laying 
the  youth  on  the  horse's  neck,  and  holding  him  there  by 
one  hand,  she  sprang  into  the  saddle,  and,  gathering  him 
to  her  bosom  again,  she  set  off  in  a  slow  and  easy  gait  to 
The  Lair. 

Going  down  the  opposite  descent  of  this  ridge,  and  pass- 
ing through  a  defile,  and  climbing  up  another  ridge  of  rocks, 
and  passing  down  it,  a  tall  and  thickly-wooded  mountain 
cleft,  open  near  the  summit,  like  the  open  crater  of  an  ex- 
tinguished volcano,  stood  before  them.  The  opening  neat 
this  mountain-top  was  shaped  like  a  mammoth  tea-cup  with* 
a  piece  broken  out  of  its  side,  the  break  being  in  front ;  orr 
as  I  said,  like  the  partly  caved-in  crater  of  a  burnt-out  vol- 
cano. This  crater  was  thickly  and  richly  grown  with  copse- 
wood,  and  might  indeed  have  served  as  the  lair  of  some 
fabulous  giant.  In  the  midst  of  this  lofty  green  hollow, 
lurked  a  shy,  half-ruined,  old  building  of  red  sandstone, 
looking  like  a  wild  beast  in  his  hole,  gloomy  enough  to 
growl  at  you.  Up  this  mountain,  and  toward  this  house, 
scrambling  over  rocks,  broken  walls,  and  through  tangled 
bushes  and  briers,  Gertrude  bore  her  charge. 

"  What — the — blazes — are  you  doing,  Gertrude  ?"  ex- 
claimed Brutus  Lion,  entering  the  stone-paved  kitchen  of 
The  Lair  that  e  *ening.  The  Gerfalcon  had  swooped  down 


290  THE     MOTHBB-IM-LAW. 

before  the  great  fireplace,  and  hovered  there  before  a  br.gfct 
blaze  that  cast  her  shadow  to  the  ceiling. 

"  What  the  devil  are  you  doing,  Gertrude  ?"  again  he 
asked,  thrusting  his  hands  into  his  breeches'  pockets,  and 
poking  his  head  forward. 

Gertrude  started  to  her  feet  like  a  guilty  thing,  a  sauce- 
pan in  one  hand  and  a  spoon  in  the  other,  her  sanguine 
blood  crimsoning  her  brow. 

"Ha,  ha,  ha,  ha,  ha-a-a-r!"  shouted  Brutus.  "WHAT! 
you  cooking!  you!  Tou  a  '  coffee-brewing,  cake-baking 
little  fool !' » 

"  HUSH  I"  muttered  the  giantess,  in  a  deep,  strong  tone. 

"  '  Hush  ?'  why,  what  in  thunder  am  I  to  hush  for  ?" 

"  Be  still,  I  say,  or,  please  the  loving  Lord,  I'll  gag  you, 
Brutus  I"  exclaimed  the  Araazoi,  setting  down  the  sauce- 
pan, and  stepping  toward  him. 

"  Hum  !  '  I'll  roar  you  softly  an'  it  were  a  sucking  dove? 
but  what's  it  all  about,  that  these  stone  walls,  that  usually 
resound  with  noise,  must  now  be  silent  as  the  '  cnshat'i 
downy  rest  ?' " 

"  The  doctor  says  he  must  be  kept  quiet." 

*  What  doctor  I—who  kept  quiet  ?" 

"  The  poor  boy — the  beautiful  boy  up  stairs." 

"  Boy  up  stairs  !" 

"  Yes,  that  was  killed  almost  by  having  his  carriage 
dashed  to  pieces." 

"  Where — when — how  ?" 

"  This  morning,  at  Mad  River  Pass,  by  taking  the  wrong 
road  down  the  precipice." 

"  And  he  has  been  brought  here  7" 

"  Yes ;  and  the  doctor  has  been  here,  and  prescribed 
rest,  and  bandages,  and  salves,  for  his  bruises — and  wheys, 
and  custards,  and  jellies,  and  what  not,  that  I  know 
Hothing  about.  See,  I're  scalded  myself  alread/,  trying  to 
Bake  this  *ta«  whey.  Wont  yon  be  10  good  at  to  go  orti 


THE     Li.  IB.  291 

ko  the  Dovecote,  and  fetch  Zoe,  and  the  schoolnaster,  too, 
if  he  cannot  be  left  behind ;  she  knows  how  all  these  thing* 
onght  to  be  got  np." 

"  Oh,  the  little  '  coffee-brewing  fool'  can  be  made  useful 
in  a  case  of  emergency." 

Very  glad  of  any  commission  that  would  bring  him  in 
company  with  Zoe,  who,  by  her  father's  command,  had 
shunned  him  entirely  for  the  last  two  months,  Brutus  threw 
himself  upon  his  horse,  rode  rapidly  down  the  mountain 
side,  and  entered  the  glen  at  the  bottom  of  which  the  Dove 
cote  lay.  Winding  round  the  circuitous  path,  he  came  in 
front  of  the  cottage,  as  it  rested  against  the  back  rocks. 
Throwing  himself  from  his  horse,  he  opened  the  little  wicker 
gate,  and  here  a  sad  sight  met  his  view. 

The  flowers  in  the  garden  had  all  been  plucked,  and 
many  of  them  torn  up  by  the  roots,  and  lay  in  bunches  and 
piles  around.  The  cottage  windows  were  bare  of  blinds, 
and  he  saw  through  the  open  door  that  the  pretty  carpet 
was  gone  from  the  floor.  On  one  side  of  the  house  stood 
Zoe,  clasping  two  white  Bantam  chickens  to  her  bosom, 
and  tears  were  rolling  down  her  cheeks.  Zoe  looked  pale 
and  wasted,  and  seemed  to  have  passed  through  a  spell  of 
illness  since  he  saw  her  last.  Near  her  stood  the  old  school- 
master, bent  nearly  double  with  age,  infirmity,  or  sorrow. 
Twenty  years  seemed  to  have  passed  over  his  hoary  head 
iiuce  Brutus  had  last  met  him.  He  was  feebly  trying  to 
tie  the  legs  of  chickens  that  he  dropped  into  a  hamper  at 
his  feet,  already  half  full  of  poultry.  He  turned  tiemblingly 
around,  as  he  saw  Brutus,  and  asked,  in  a  querulous  tone — 

"  What  do  you  come  here  for,  sir  ?  Didn't  I  tell  you  to 
keep  away  from  here  ?  that  I  wouldn't  have  you  here  ?  It 
u  very  strange  that  you  will  persist  in  coming  where  you 
are  not  wanted." 

"  Oh,  Brutus  1"  wept  Zoe,  coming  closj  to  bis  side,  '  ht 
MM  'oft  hii  mind— h«  who  was  10  generous !  h«  thinks  ef 


202  THE     MOTHKB-IN-LJLW. 

•othing  but  money.  He  has  carried  to  town-market  all  my 
things,  and  sold  them — my  new  carpets  and  quilts — my  new 
iocks  and  gloves — my  herbs  and  flowers.  Well,  I  was  sorry, 
but  I  did  not  cry  for  them,  because  they  were  dead  things ; 
but  now,  oh,  now,  he  is  tying  my  poor  dear  hens  and  chick- 
ens to  take  them  to  market  to-morrow  1  Look — see  1  Poor 
dear  Speckle,  and — and — sweet  darling  Blossom — and — 
and — and  now  he  wants  to  take  lovely  Snowdrop — and — " 
here  choking  sobs  convulsed  the  child's  bosom,  as  she 
hugged  her  white  Bantams  closer  to  her  bosom. 

"  What  are  you  sobbing  for,  you  miserable  little  wretch  ? 
Save  your  tears — you'll  have  a  use  for  them.  Hand  me  the 
chickens  here  ;  and  if  you  weep,  weep  for  yourself.  I  must, 
must  make  up  two  hundred  dollars,  and  I  have  not  got  fifty 
yet ;"  and  the  old  man  held  out  his  trembling  and  claw-like 
fingers  for  the  Bantams. 

"Give  them  up,  Zoe,  my  darling;  I  will  save  them — save 
them  all ;  not  a  feather  of  your  pets  shall  be  ruffled." 

After  having  showered  tears  and  kisses  upon  them,  Zoe 
handed  the  Bantams  to  the  old  man. 

"  Say,  sir,"  exclaimed  Brutus,  touching  the  old  man's 
elbow  to  arrest  his  attention,  for  the  schoolmaster  in  his 
occupation  had  apparently  forgotten  him  ;  "say,  sir!" 

"  Well,  you  here  yet  ?     Didn't  I  tell  you  to  go  ?" 

"  We  have  got  a  sick  young  man  up  at  our  house,  and 
tiie  doctor  has  ordered  him  to  eat  chickens.  I  want  to  buy 
a  dozen." 

"  Eh  ?  yes  I  well  1  what  f  these  are  good  chickens,  and 
must  bring  a  good  price  ;  and  since  it  is  for  a  sick  man,  and 
•ince  he  is  obliged  to  take  them — say  a  dollar  a  pair." 

"  Oh,  father  1"  exclaimed  Zoe — 

"  Never  mind — never  mind — Zoe,  dear,  I'm  no  Jew. 
That  is  it,  sir  I  I'll  take  as  many  as  yea  will  let  me  hare 
at  that  price." 

14  Tak«  than  all" 


TAX     LAIJL  S9S 

•'  Agreed.  Well,  my  good  sir,  there  if  another  thing— 
the  doctor,  besides  ordering  this  rich  young  man  to  eat 
chickens,  has  ordered  him  to  divert  his  mind  by  learning 
Greek  lessons." 

"Eh!  well?" 

"  And  we  want  to  engage  a  teacher  for  him  in  the  hoot*. " 

"Eh  t  well,  yes,  what  then  ?" 

"  We  were  thinking  of  you,  sir." 

"Ah,  yes,  to  be  sure.  Bat  then  as  it  is  to  save  his  life 
—it  is  valuable,  and  must  be  liberally  compensated,  this 
private  tuition." 

"  Certainly,  sir ;  he  is  a  wealthy  Englishman,  and  can 
afford  it ;  in  the  time  of  his  illness  I  am  his  banker,  and  I 
can  secure  it  to  yon,"  said  Brutus,  hardening  his  conscience 
with  lie  after  lie. 

"  Zoe,  go  pack  up  Herodotus,  JSschylus,  Euripides,  and 
Sophocles;  go.  When  is  it  that  yon  want  me  to  come,  sir?" 

"To-night,  sir,  to  be  ready  to  commence  in  the  morn- 
ing." 

"  Well,  well.     Yes,  but  what  am  I  to  do  with  Zoe  ?" 

"  Sir,  my  sister,  you  know  is  a  wild  girl ;  she  does  not 
know  how  to  prepare  delicate  dishes  for  an  invalid,  and  all 
our  negro  women  have  run  away,  and  so  my  sister  told  me 
to  entreat  her  friend  Zoe  to  come  to  The  Lair,  and  give  her 
some  directions  in  these  matters." 

"  Yes,  but  Zoe  ought  to  be  paid.  No,  she  ehall  not, 
either ;  I  cant  degrade  Zoe."  And  the  old  man  bunt  into 
tears. 

"  Oh,  what  a  wreck  ?"  muttered  Brutus,  looking  down  oa 
the  gray  head,  bowed  upon  the  withered  hands. 

At  last  he  looked  np  imploringly  to  the  young  DUB'S 
face,  and  said— 

"Bratoa,  I  want  to  sell  the  Dovecote;  how  much  wiU 
you  give  me  for  It  ?w 

"  Bat  I  do  not  want  to  buy  it,  dr." 
18 


294  THK     MOTHJCR-IN-LAW. 

"  You  don't*  Come,  I  will  sell  it  to  you  cheap.  I  mart 
have  money  for  Zoe's  sake." 

"  For  Zoe's  sake,  sir  ?  I  love  Zoe ;  I  wish  to  marry 
Zoe ;  I  will  devote  my  life  to  her  happiness ;  consent  to  oof 
•uuriage,  and  her  future  is  secured." 

"  Brutus,  you  love  her." 

"  God  knows  it  1" 

"  Only  her  ?" 

"  Only  her,  of  all  womankind." 

"  Brutus,  yon  cannot  marry  her." 

"  You  have  said  so  before,  but  that  does  not  prove  it." 

"Brutus,  swear  that  you  will  not  divulge  what  I  tell  you  ** 

"  I  swear  it,  sir." 

"  ZOE  is  A  SLAVE." 

Brutus  Lion  reeled  as  if  struck  by  a  cannon-ball. 

"  Great  God,  sir  I" 

"  And  there  are  some  in  this  neighborhood  that  know  it." 

"  Sir !  sir  1  how  did  this  come  to  your  knowledge  ?" 

"  Two  months  ago,  through  an  old  midwife ;  yesterday, 
through  Mrs.  .Armstrong." 

"  Through  Mrs.  Armstrong  1" 

"  Yes,  yes ;  she  sent  for  me,  and  told  me,  advising  me  to 
get  the  child  out  of  the  State ;  but  lord,  poor  baby,  whet* 
can  I  send  her,  alone  and  unprotected  ?" 

"And  who  is  the  owner?" 

"Major  Somerville." 

"  And  who  are  her  parents  ?" 

"  His  slaves,  Harriet  and  George." 

"  Impossible  I" 

"  TRUE,  I  tell  you." 

"  But  the  particulars  1  •  for  God's  sake  give  me  the  parti- 
onlars !" 

"  Well,  then,  this  is  it :  You  remember  after  na/  Qrtek 
rlaai?" 

"Yu," 


THE     LAIR.  296 

*  How  I  came  borne  one  evening,  and  found  no  one  hen 
bat  you,  with  Zoe  ? 

"  Yes,  yes  1     And  I  remember  your  agitation  I" 

"  Well  I  might  be  agitated—" 

"Well!  well!" 

14 1  had  been  dining  with  Major  Somerville,  and  sat  witb 
him  smoking  our  pipes  until  the  sun  got  low — very  low. 
Then  I  happened  to  think  of  my  Greek  class,  and  I  started 
to  come  home.  I  paced  down  the  steep  of  The  Crags,  and 
turned  into  the  deep  dell  that  lies  between  my  old  school- 
house  hill  and  the  river.  At  the  bottom  of  this  glen  the 
woods  are  very  thick,  the  trees  very  tall,  and  their  branches 
meeting  overhead,  together  with  the  very  high  hills  around 
and  behind  them,  throw  the  path  into  deep  shadow,  like 
night  at  noon.  Well,  I  had  reached  the  middle  of  the 
glen  when  I  overtook  old  Nancy  Jumper,  the  midwife." 

'  Kate  Jumper's  white  aunt !" 

"Yes — well!  She  was  riding  slowly  along  on  her  mule. 
Oh  I  she's  an  ugly  horror,  more  hideous,  than  her  niece 
Kate—" 

"Yes!  well?" 

"  The  path  was  so  narrow  that  I  could  not  pass  her.  She 
turned  at  the  sound  of  my  horse's  feet,  and  said,  '  Good 
evening,  master.'  '  Good  evening,  Nancy,'  I  replied.  '  How 
is  Zoe,  master  ?'  '  My  daughter  is  well,'  I  answered,  not 
liking  her  familiarity  ;  and  a  silence  ensued.  Still  we  had  to 
keep  company  on  the  road.  At  last,  without  turning  her 
head,  she  asked,  '  What  day  is  this,  master  ?'  '  The  fifteenth 
of  April.'  '  I  thought  so !  this  reminds  me  of  this  day 
seventeen  years  ago.'  '  Why  ?'  inquired  I  with  some  inter- 
est, remembering  her  calling,  and  knowing  that  it  was  the 
fifteenth  of  April,  seventeen  years  ago,  that  Zoe  was  found 
on  my  porch.  'Because,'  she  replied,  'something  strange 
happened  to  me  in  this  glen,  upon  that  lery  night 
1  What  WM  it,  tkra  ?'  I  a*ked. 


296  TKB     MOTHXB-IK-LAW. 

"  No  ir,  my  son  Brutus,  I  will  give  you  the  story  In  her 
own  words : 

"'Well,  master,  that  Friday,  the  first  of  April,  airly  in 

the  morning,  I  had  been  called  upon  to  wait  on  a  lady  up 

in  Rappahannock  county.     It  was  a  mortal  bad  case — one 

of  the  worst  of  cases,  aud  kept  me  there  till  iiear  midnight, 

afore  all  was  over.     I  would  a'staid  all  night,  but  it  was 

like  for  rain,  and  I  memorized  that  my  bedroom  windows 

was  left  open.     So  when  I  had  seen  the  lady  and  the  child 

comfortable,  I  sets  off  for  home,  atween  eleven  and  twelve 

o'clock.      I   wan't   afeard,   for   I   never   memorize   seeing 

nothiuk  more  worser  than  myself.'      '  Likely  not,' said  I. 

'  No,  sir ;  much  as  I  have  been  called  up  at  all  hours  of  the 

night  to  travel  through  the  most  lonesomest  places,  I  never 

seen  nothink  more  worser  than  myself — BO  I  wan't  afeard. 

80  me  aud  Jinny — not  this  Jinny  I'm  a  riding  of  now,  but 

her  mother — so  Jinny  and  me  come  along  slow  like,  down 

this  deep,  narrow  path,  where  you  see  it  is  dark  enough  in 

the  daytime,  but  in  a  cloudy  midnight  it  is  the  most  darkest 

place  as  ever  was  hern  tell  on  1     Well,  Jinny  and  me,  we 

was  a  coming  through  this  black  hollow,  when  we  got  into 

the  midst  of  the  blackness,  Jinny  she  started,  driv'  her  feet 

plump  into  the  ground,  and    stood  stock   still !     I  seen 

nothink  in  the  dark,  and  sure  us  I'm  a  livin'  sinner,  master, 

I  thought  Jinny  seen  a  sperrit !     Now,  I  ain't  afeard  of 

nothink  in  the  brute  form,  nor  yet  in  the  human  form,  but  I 

must  say  as  how  I'm  afeard  o'  sperrits,  specially  black  ones. 

I  bursted  all  over  in  perspiration,  just  as  if  I  had  been 

drinking  of  a  sweat,  and  I  said,  'In  the  name  off  the  angels, 

smd  off  the  saints,  and  off  the  devils,  what  do  you  want  P 

Are  you  Granny  Jumper  ?'  says  a  gruff  voice,  says  it.    Says 

I,  'Yes.'     'Well,  yon're  wanted  to  go  to  a  lady.     I  hare 

been  at  your  house  to  look  for  you,  and  come  from  there  to 

meet  you,  as  the  gal  said  you'd  be  sure  to  be  coming  home. 

Then  he- -ft  was  a  he — comes  np  close  to  me  and  says,  saj* 


THE     LAIB.  §97 

he,  'Granny,  this  is  a  secret  business.'  'I'm  used  to  rich, 
says  I.  '  A  yonng  lady  who  has  been  privately  married — 
'Without  being  beholden  to  the  parson,' says  I  'Ton 
are  at  fault;  bot  this  must  be  kept  a  secret,  and  you 
shall  be  paid  well,'  says  he.  'But,  Granny/  says  he,  'you 
most  be  blindfolded.'  'I  won't,'  said  I.  'Granny,  do  you 
know  a  guinea  when  you  feel  it  ?'  '  Yes,'  says  I.  '  Her* 
are  two.  Suffer  me  to  blindfold  you  and  you  shall  have  five 
more  when  the  affair  is  over.'  '  Well,'  thinks  I, '  the  blessed 
fool  may  blindfold  me,  but  it  will  go  hard  if  I  don't  know 
the  road  he's  a  taking  of  me.'  So  I  let  the  man  blindfold 
me,  and  then  he  led  my  mule  down  that  path,  and  made  a 
circle  to  fool  me,  and  took  me  by  another  path  straight  up 
The  Crags.  I  kept  the  general  route  well  enough.  Then 
we  stops — dogs  barks — he  speaks  to  them,  and  they  hushes 
Then  he  helps  me  down,  and  takes  my  arm,  and  draws  it 
through  hisen.  Well,  when  I  was  so  close  to  him,  I  knows 
he  was  not  one  of  my  own  color ;  still  I  never  let  on.  He 
takes  me  through  a  door,  and  through  a  room,  and  through 
another  door,  and  up  a  flight  of  stairs  on  the  left  hand,  and 
into  a  room  on  the  right.  Here  he  took  the  bandage  from 
my  eyes,  and  he  might's  well  have  left  it  on.  The  room  was 
rayther  darkish.  He  led  me  up  to  a  bed  as  was  curtained. 
Well,  there  was  no  light  brought  into  the  room  until  jist 
after  the  babe  was  born,  and  even  then  I  did  not  see  the 
mother's  face,  for  she  concealed  it.  The  woman  that  brought 
the  light  in  had  her  face  muffled  up  in  a  shawl,  and  she  took 
the  babe  and  carried  it  out,  with  the  light  also.  And  then, 
in  the  dark,  came  the  same  man,  and  blindfolding  me,  put 
five  guineas  in  my  hand,  and  took  me  away.  Well,  he  took 
me  by  still  another  road,  and  left  me  in  the  middle  of  the 
same  glen  where  he  had  stopped  me.  Well,  it  was  very 
nigh  on  to  dawn  when  I  got  home.  I  was  younger  and 
stronger  then  than  I  am  now,  and  more  usen  to  lose  my  rest; 
to,  Instead  of  going  to  bed  at  the  dawn  of  day,  I  makes  my 


298  THB     MOTHER- IIC-LAW. 

self  a  strong  cnp  of  coffee,  and  goes  across  the  river  to  pick 
horse-mint  afore  the  dew  was  off.  You  know  there's 
nothing  like  that  grows  on  this  barren  side.  Well,  the  son 
wasn't  nothink  nigh  up  when  I  passes  close  to  the  Dovecote. 
I  seen  a  woman  going  towards  it  with  a  somethink  in  her 
arms.  The  woman  didn't  see  me.  I  stoops  down  where  I 
was  a  gathering  of  the  horse-mint,  and  watches  her.  She 
lays  down  her  bundle  on  the  porch,  and,  as  she  tamed 
around  to  come  away,  I  seen  it  was  Harriet,  Major  Somer- 
ville's  quadroon  'ooman.  She  looked  ill  and  ghastly,  and  I 
know'd  how  it  was  her  own  child  she  had  laid  there.  And 
I  guessed  her  motive.  I  know'd  how  she  and  her  ole  man 
had  been  a  tryin'  to  save  money  to  buy  the  freedom  of  their 
first  child,  Anna,  and  I  memorize  of  hearing  her  say  that 
phe  never  would  bring  another  child  into  the  world  to  be  a 
slave,  and  I  knew  that  she  had  concealed  the  birth  of  this 
child,  and  laid  it  at  your  door,  that  it  might  be  fotch  up  as 
a  free  white  child.' 

" '  Did  you  speak  to  Harriet  when  she  turned  from  mj 
cottage-gate  ?' 

" '  No,  master.' 

"'Why?' 

"  '  Because  I  did  not  wish  to  let  on  as  I  know'd  anj 
think  about  it.' 

"  '  Again — why?' 

" '  La,  master,  keeping  of  things  to  myself  comes  sort  •* 
nat'rel  to  me.' 

" '  Why,  then,  do  you  tell  me  now  ?' 

" '  Why,  master,  you  see  for  a  reason.  I  am  getting  old, 
and  a  losing  of  my  custom,  and  a  wantin'  of  money,  and  it 
eome  to  me  as  if  I  let  on  any  think  about  the  girl  to  old 
Major  Somerville's  creditors,  how  they  might  pay  me  some'at 
imart  for  tellin'  all  about  it ;  some'at  to  keep  me  in  my  eld 
days — but  I  thought  how  I  wouldn't  like  to  'aturb  you,  M 


TKX     LAIR.  2W 

jou  like  the  little  gal,  if  you  could  manage  yourself,  to  make 
me  up  a  little  something  to  keep  me  in  my  old  days.' 

"  In  a  word,  Brutus,  the  old  crone  wished  to  extort 
money  from  me." 

"  I  hope  you  did  not  pay  her  to  keep  the  secret,  sir  7" 

"  I  could  not,  Brutus.  I  did  not  even  give  her  the  leart 
•ncouragement  to  hope  that  I  would." 

"  I  am  glad  of  it,  sir.  This  whole  story  sounds  to  m« 
very  much  like  an  imposition." 

"But  it  is  not." 

"  Not,  sir  ?» 

"Noi !  Listen,  Brutus.  Within  a  week,  the  old  woman 
has  divulged  the  secret." 

"  How,  sir  ?" 

"Yes,  to  Major  Somerville's  largest  creditor  1" 

"  Oh,  heaven !" 

"  Yesterday  morning  Mrs.  Armstrong  sent  for  me.  I 
tffcflt  to  her ;  she  was  in  her  bed-room,  looking  very  ill, 
propped  up  with  pillows  in  her  easy  chair.  She  haa 
changed  very  much  since  her  last  visit  to  The  Isle  of  Rays. 
'  I  have  sent  for  you,  sir,'  she  said,  '  upon  the  most  im- 
portant business — your  adopted  daughter,  Zoo,  sir.  Are 
yot  advised  of  her  origin  ?'  I  could  not  reply.  I  grew 
giddy,  and  turned  pale,  and  she  saw  it.  '  Sit  down  sir,' 
•he  said — (she  had  not  invited  nie  to  do  so  before.)  '  I  see, 
sir,  that  you  know  or  suspect  something  of  this  girl's  birth. 
May  I  inquire  how  long  it  has  been  since  you  have  knowK 
or  suspected  this  ?'  4  Madam,  I  know  nothing. 

"  '  Very  well,  sir  !  I  do  not  insist  upon  your  committing 
yourself  by  rash  words ;  but  let  me  tell  you,  sir,  that  /  knew 
all ;  and  that  I  have  sent  for  you  from  the  kindest  motives 
to  advise  "you  to  send  this  girl  away  from  the  States.  She 
is  the  second  daughter  of  Gecrge  and  Harriet,  two  slaves 
of  Major  Somerville.  They  dishonestly  concealed  her  birth, 
to  secure  her  education  aud  freedom.  This  secret  cannot 


800  THE     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

be  kept  forever.  I  have  lately  learned  it,  as  others  will. 
The  creditors  of  Major  Somerville  are  growing  impatient 
They  will  not  molest  him  now — but  he  is  in  extreme  age. 
If  anything  were  to  happen  to  him,  they  would  swoop  dowa 
upon  his  property,  and  sweep  it  all  away  ;  and  though,  aa 
Major  Somerville's  largest  creditor,  ray  claims  are  just,  and 
1  promise  to  forego  them,  yet  others  will  not,  or  cannot  afford 
to  be  so  merciful.  Therefore,  I  advise  you  to  get  your  pro- 
teg£  out  of  the  State,  with  all  possible  expedition.  It  ia 
a  pity  that  a  young  girl,  so  nearly  white  as  to  pass  for 
*hite,  ar.d  with  a  mind  and  heart  so  rich  and  so  highly  cul- 
tivated, should  be  reduced  to  slavery.'  And,  ringing  the 
bell  for  her  servant,  Mrs.  Armstrong  dismissed  me." 

"  Well,  Brutus,  what  do  you  think  of  this  story  ?" 

"  Sir,  I  am  confused — amazed  ;  but  I  think  that  when 
the  devil  or  Mrs.  Armstrong  grows  philanthropic,  some- 
thing is  to  be  suspected,  and  people  should  be  on  their 
guard,"  moaned  Brutus  iu  a  tone  of  deep  sorrow. 

"  And  /,  Brutus.  My  brain  reels,  sometimes,  my  memory 
fails.  I  am  unable  to  fix  my  attention  upon  anything 
This  child,  Brutus  !  I  loved  her  as  my  own  1" 

"  Ah,  sir  1"  heavily  sighed  Brutus. 

"You  do  not  know  all  she  was  to  me  I" 

"  Oh,  sir !  yes  I  do." 

"  She  was  the  life  of  my  heart." 

"  Oh,  Heaven,  sir  1  of  mine  too  !" 

"  /  called  her  Zoe—life!" 

11  God  have  mercy  on  us  1" 

"  I  taught  her  GREEK  1" 

"  God  have  me^cy  on  us  !"  again  prayed  Brutai,  OMUOI 
fttely  clasping  his  hands. 

"  Brutus !" 

"Sir!" 

"  You  can  neTer  marry  her." 

"Oh I  I  know  it,"  groaned  the  young  man. 


TMB     LJLIK.  101 

44  Therefore,  Brutus,  there  must  be  no  more  lore  passage! 
between  you." 

"  Oh !  no,  no,  sir,"  sighed  the  Lion,  dropping  his  shaggy 
head  upon  his  hands, 

"  If  I  take  her  to  The  Lair,  where  indeed  she  will  b« 
•afer,  in  some  respects,  you  will  regard  her  misfortunes." 

"  Yes,  sir,  oh  yes  I  But  tell  me — does  she — no,  she  does 
not — this  unfortunate  child — suspect  her  real  position  ?" 

"Ah,  no  1  I  hare  not  had  the  courage  to  tell  her  yet — " 

At  this  moment  the  coming  up  of  Zoe  arrested  their  con- 
versation. 

By  nightfall  they  were  all  at  The  Lair.  The  old  man,  as 
is  frequently  the  case  with  the  extremely  aged,  had,  after  this 
spasmodic  clearing  up  of  his  intellects,  relapsed  into  the  con- 
fused, abstracted  condition  of  mind  that  had  of  late  marked 
him. 

Immediately  on  reaching  The  Lair,  Brutus  had  a  fire 
lighted  in  a  musty  old  study,  filled  with  mouldy  books,  and 
conducting  the  schoolmaster  there,  told  him  that  that  opened 
into  a  sleeping-room,  and  that  they  were  to  be  his  apart- 
ments. Here,  seated  at  a  wood  fire,  the  old  man  fell  into  a 
reverie,  forgetting  even  to  inquire  about  his  pupil. 

In  the  old  stone  kitchen  below,  little  Zoe  busied  herself 
in  making  a  whey  for  the  patient,  while  Brutus  walked 
moodily  up  and  down  the  floor.  Gertrude  remained  at  the 
bedside  of  her  invalid.  She  did  not  even  join  the  school- 
master, Brutus,  and  Zoe,  at  supper  ;  but  after  supper  ;  she 
came  down,  and  sent  Zoe  up  to  watch,  while  she  took  some 
refreshments.  The  schoolmaster  had  retired  again  to  the 
musty  study.  Gertrude  took  a  seat  near  the  window,  and 
while  she.ate  some  strawberries,  she  talked  to  Brutus. 

"  How  is  your  patient,  Gertiude  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Feverish,  restless,  tumbling  about  his  bed,  and  worry- 
ing himself  to  death  about  some  State  papers  th»t  must  bt 
MturLed  to  Wellington." 


$02  THE     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

"  Where  are  they  now  ?" 

"  In  his  coat  pocket." 

"  Send  them  to  the  post-office." 

" He  will  u«'';  trust  them  to  our  uncertain  country  mails; 
besides  he  knows  that  this  is  not  mail-day,  and  it  is  of  the 
utmost  importance  that  these  papers  be  in  the  minister's 
hands  the  day  after  to-morrow.  Unless  his  mind  can  be  set 
at  rest  upon  this  subject,  he  will  be  excited  into  high  fever, 
perhaps  delirium.  The  physician,  who  left  him  just  as  you 
returned,  says  so.  I  was  about  to  ask  you,  Brutus,  if  you 
could  not  possibly  go  to  Washington  with  these  papers. 
Earthquake  will  take  you  there  and  back  in  two  days.  Oh  1 
Brutus,  you  would  so  much  oblige  me  if  you  would,  and  it 
might  be  the  saving  of  the  young  man's  life." 

Brutus  mused — Gertrude  coaxed.  It  seemed  not  unplea- 
sant to  Brutus  to  get  away,  if  possible,  from  torturing  re- 
grets. Nothing  could  happen,  or  at  least  was  likely  to 
happen,  to  Zoe,  in  so  short  a  space  as  two  days. 

"  Brutus,  I  never  asked  a  favor  of  you  before  in  my  life, 
and  I  beg  one  of  you  now." 

"I  will  go,  Gertrude." 

Inleed,  both  brother  and  sister  were  wonderfully  subdued 
an<*  softened — the  one  by  pity — the  other  by  sorrow — both 
by  love. 

In  order  to  lose  no  time,  Brutus  arose  before  dawn  and 
called  Gertrude,  who  had  watched  by  the  wounded  man's 
couch  all  night.  Taking  Gertrude  down  into  the  dark  and 
silent  hall,  he  there  related  to  her  the  secret  history  revealed 
by  the  schoolmaster,  at  which  Gertrude  expressed  no  sur- 
prise at  all ;  on  the  contrary,  she  replied — 

"I  suspected  it  all  along." 

"  You  did,  Gertrude.     But  from  what  circumstances  ?" 

"  I  can  scarcely  tell  you.  From  the  vaguest  things,  that 
yet  impressed  me  strongly  ;  things  so  intangible  that  they 
would  vanish  whev  I  would  try  and  seize  and  prove  then. 


TUB     LA  I  ft.  SOS 

And,  moreover,  what  I  feel  most  certainly,  is  (hat  Ifft. 
Armstrong  is  darkly,  and  perhaps  criminally  implicated 
in  this  same  business." 

"  Your  reasons  7  Your  reasons  f n 
"I  cannot  give  any  that  yon  wonld  not  set  dovrn  as  flws- 
ciful  aud  absurd.  If  I  were  to  tell  you,  for  instance,  only 
of  certain  looks,  tones,  and  gestures,  upon  certain  occa- 
sions— starts  and  pallors,  upon  the  naming  of  certain  sub- 
jects— you  would  consider  them  fantastical,  as  I  do  when  I 
really  examine  them ;  yet  I  feel  in  my  inmost  heart  that 
Mrs.  Armstrong  is  criminally  implicated  in  this  affair.  For, 
Bometimes,  by  little  hints  capable  of  a  double  meaning,  I 
frighten  her  into  the  idea  that  I  know  something,  when  I 
know  nothing.  Brutus  groaned  deeply,  and  then  said — 

"  Gertrude,  old  Major  Somerville  has  been  threatened 
with  an  apoplectic  stroke.  It  is  scarcely  likely  that  any 
tiling  should  happen  before  my  return ;  but  if  it  should 
chance  that  the  old  man  is  stricken  down — his  creditors 
only  wait  his  death,  to  swoop  down  upon  his  property — in 
a  word,  Gertrude,  if  the  sheriff  should  attach  Zoe  as  his 
property,  you  will  defend  her  ?" 

"With  my  life.     Come,  you  know  me." 
"  You  will  not  permit  the  constables  to  take  her  ?" 
"  TAKE  HER,  Glory  !    We  shall  take  the  constables.     I 
muff  the  battle  afar  off!" 


?  • 


CHAPTER  XXTI. 

DIATH     AT     THK     CRAOB 

Ho— pleasures,  hopes,  affectioni  goa«, 
The  wretch  may  bear  and  yet  11  re  ot, 
Like  things  within  the  coid  rock  found 
Alive  when  all's  congeal'd  around. 
Bat  there's  a  hlani  repose  In  this, 
A  calm  stagnation  that  were  bliss 
To  the  k«en,  burning,  harrowing  pain, 
Now  felt  through  all  that  breast  and  brain.— 

"  WHY  is  this  ?  "Why  do  I  walk  about  in  a  conscioni 
death,  dead — seeming  to  live.  Dead !  yes,  were  the  gray* 
closed  over  me,  I  could  not  be  more  completely  dead.  And 
it  would  be  better  so,  for  then  I  should  not  be  conscious  as 
I  am  now.  Death  in  the  grave  1  why,  that  is  not  bad.  The 
unconscious  body  lies  there,  and  the  freed  spirit  revels  in 
liberty  and  space.  Death  in  the  grave  1  that  were  a  boon. 
But  it  is  the  body  that  is  a  sepulchre  where  my  soul  lies 
entombed  alive. 

"  T  have  no  strength  of  heart  to  love,  believe,  or  hope- 
none.  How  cold  and  hard  I  grow.  My  poor  old  grand- 
father, old,  sick,  and  poor,  no  longer  moves  my  sympathy, 
because  I  think  it  is  not  such  a  misfortune  to  grow  old  and 
die. 

"  Anna  no  longer  shares  my  love.  I  wonder  at  her  ha- 
bitual resignation,  and  cannot  understand  it.  A  river  of 
ice  seems  to  have  frozen  between  us. 

"  I  cannot  pray  or  believe  as  once,  for  hard  thoughts  of 
Pi  evidence  come  between  my  prayer  and  His  throne. 

"  Yes  1  my  life  of  love,  of  hope,  and  faith  is  gone.  I  am 
dead — dead.  Oh  1  Lord,  complete  this  dissolution  ;  let  EM 
(W4) 


DEATH     AT     THE     CBA«S.  805 

die,  indeed,  or  else  give  me  life — some  life — a  life  of  anguish, 
rather  than  thin  conscious,  living  death  I" 

Such  were  the  half-crazy  moanings  of  Susan  Sornerville 
when  she  returned  home  from  the  marriage  of  General  Stu- 
art-Gordon and  Miss  O'Riley. 

"Give  me  life  or  death!  Any  life! — a  life  of  anguish, 
rather  than  this  conscious  death  !" 

It  seemed  as  if  her  wild  prayer  had  been  heard  and  an- 
swered. Anna  entered  the  room, .pale  and  trembling.  Su- 
san turned  and  looked  at  her  with  languid  surprise. 

"  Your  grandfather,  Miss  Susan." 

"What of  him?" 

11  In  a  fit— dying !" 

"  Oh,  God,  forgive  me,  and  spare  him !"  exclaimed  th« 
tonscience-stricken  girl,  suddenly  thinking  remorsefully  of 
ner  repinings  a  moment  before.  She  hurried  from  the  room 
wildly — paused  in  the  hall,  and  asked  hastily,  "  Where  is 
he?" 

"  In  his  room,  Miss  Susan." 

"  Have  you  sent  for  the  doctor  ?" 

"  My  father  has  gone,  Miss  Susan." 

"  Who  is  with  him  ?"  she  inquired,  still  hurrying  on. 

"My  mother,  Miss  Susan." 

"  Who  found  him  ?" 

"  I  did,  Miss  Susan.  I  went  to  call  him  down  to  dinner, 
and  found  him  on  the  floor  in  a  fit." 

"  On  the  floor  in  a  fit  I  Oh,  my  God  1  we  have  neglected 
him,  Anna.  Oh,  Anna,  we  have  neglected  him  1" 

"I  do  not  think  so,  Miss  Susan." 

"  He  ought  never  to  have  been  left  alone  a  moment.  Oh, 
Anna,  not  a  moment  i  Oh,  Anna,  who  knows  how  long  he 
goffered  before  you  fonnd  him  !" 

"  Not  five  minutes,  Miss  Susan.  He  had  been  reading 
the  Bible  all  the  morning,  while  you  were  at  chnroh,  and  un- 
til JOB  cam*  Home.  When  be  law  you  go  up  to  your  room 


S06  TEE     MOTHIB-IJf.-JLW. 

to  put  off  your  bonnet,  he  went  into  the  yard  and  plucked 
a  bunch  of  wild  eglantine  roses,  and  told  me  to  put  them  in 
water  and  set  them  on  the  table  for  you,  and  to  call  him  to 
dinner  when  you  came  down  ;  and  then  he  went  to  his  room 
and  in  five  minutes,  or  less  time,  I  found  him  in  a  fit." 

The  end  of  this  rapid  conversation  brought  them  to  the 
bedside  of  the  invalid.  Tears  were  streaming  from  the  eyes 
of  Susan  as  she  gazed  at  the  convulsed  form  and  features 
of  the  old  man.  Even  while  she  gazed,  a  violent  spasm 
agitated  the  poor  old  frame. 

"  Ob,  what  can  we  do  for  him  ?"  she  sobbed.  "  Grand- 
father I  dear  grandfather  I  can't  you  speak  to  us  ?" 

"  Hush,  Miss  Susan  I     He  is  past  that — long  past  that." 

"  Oh  I  what  can  we  do  for  him  ?" 

"  Nothing,  Miss  Susan,  till  the  doctor  comes.  This  is 
ipoplexy." 

"  Apoplexy  !     Oh,  Heaven  !" 

"  Calm  yourself,  Miss  Susan." 

"  Grandfather !  oh,  dear  grandfather,  look  at  me  I  jurt 
look  at  me  !"  sobbed  Susan,  seeking  to  fix  the  glance  of  the 
rolling  eyes.  But  there  was  no  consciousness  in  those  orbs 
Dropping  on  her  knee  by  the  bedside,  she  took  and  ki8sedf 
again  and  again,  the  old,  withered  hand  that  hung  helplessly 
over  the  quilt,  and  gave  herself  up  to  a  passion  of  sobs. 
"  Grandfather !  Oh,  I  would  give  the  best  years  of  my  life 
for  one  single  woid,  for  one  single  glance  of  recognition 
This  poor  hand  1  its  last  act  was  for  me.  Ingrate !  oat 
iugrate  that  I  was."  Agaiu  a  violent  fit  of  sobbing  choked 
her  utterance.  "His  last  words  to  me  were,  'God  love 
you,  baby  !' just  as  we  set  out  for  church,  and  his  last  words 
were,  'Put  these  roses  in  water  for  Susan.'  Ingrate!  ob, 
ingrate,  that  I  was."  A  spasm  again  convulsed  the  dying 
man.  "  Grandfather,  oh,  grandfather !  if  I  could  change 
places  with  you,  Go  1  knows  I  would  do  it '  A  moon  front 


DKATH     AT     THE     CRAGS.  80? 

the  breast  of  the  old  man— a  short,  rasping  respiration — a 
quick,  violent  spasm — and  all  was  still. 

"  He  is  at  rest,  Miss  Susan,"  said  Harriet.  Snsan  started 
to  her  feet — gazed  one  moment  on  the  stiffening  face ;  a  mist 
passed  before  her  eyes,  her  head  swam,  her  limbs  failed,  and 
she  fell.  Anna  caught  her,  placed  a  cup  of  water  to  her 
lips,  and  drew  her  from  the  room — drew  her  to  her  own 
chamber,  where  Susan  fell  upon  the  bed  and  turned  upon 
her  face,  extending  her  arms  in  an  attitude  of  utter  and 
helpless  abandonment.  And  there  she  lay  all  day,  and  there 
she  lay  all  night,  without  a  change  of  position. 

Anna  returned  to  the  death-chamber  to  assist  her  mother 
The  doctor  had  just  come — ten  minutes  too  late. 

Major  Somerville  died  on  Sunday  afternoon. 

On  Tuesday,  at  the  very  hour  that  Brutus  Lion  was  set- 
ting out  for  the  metropolis,  without  having  heard  of  what 
had  happened  at  The  Crags,  ten  miles  off,  they  were  mak- 
ing preparations  for  the  funeral. 

The  funeral  took  place  on  Tuesday  afternoon. 

On  Wednesday  morning,  Miss  Somerville  and  Anna  were 
•itting  ont  on  the  piazza.  Both  were  in  mourning.  Susan 
was  engaged,  mechanically,  with  her  everlasting  knotting 
work.  Anna  was  reading  to  her  from  Felicia  Hemans' 
poems.  They  had  been  left  to  Susan  by  Britannia  O'Riley, 
who  bestowed  upon  her,  her  whole  collection  of  books, 
casts,  and  pictures,  before  leaving  The  Crags.  They  were 
few  who  read  poetry  with  more  appreciation,  sympathy,  or 
finer  elocntion  than  Anna.  She  was  reading  the  "  Crown- 
ing of  Corinne  at  the  Capitol,"  and  when  she  finished — 

M  Badlact  daughter  of  the  ran ! 
Vow  thy  llTlng  wrath  ID  won, 
Crowned  of  Rome !  oh,  art  thon  not 
Happier  in  that  glorious  lot  T— 
Happy,  happier  far  than  thon, 
With  the  laurel  on  thy  brow, 
If  the  that  makes  the  hnablert  kMlO. 
Lorely  bat  to  MM  •»  »*rtk  1" 


SOS  THB     MOTHER    IIC-LJLWV 

"Read  on.  I  like  it,"  said  Stsan.  "  There  if  the  wtfl 
of  a  broken  heart  in  every  line  she  has  written." 

Bat  Anna  resolutely  closed  the  book. 

"  This  is  unhealthy,  Miss  Susan,  this  is  morbid  in  you, 
in  Corinne,  and  in  the  poetess  whose  sweet  but  enfeebling 
•trains  we  have  jnst  been  reading.  The  heart  of  this  ideal 
Corinne  was  destroyed  by  a  conflagration  of  passion — what 
then  7  She  had  a  glorious  brain.  It  was  impossible  to 
live  in  a  ruin — what  then  ?  She  might  have  lived  in  a 
palace.  She  had  no  life  in  her  affections — well,  she  might 
have  had  a  glorious  life  in  her  intellect.  The  soul  lives  in 
the  heart  and  the  head — in  the  affections  and  in  the  intel- 
lect. A  strong  soul  driven  out  from  its  own  wounded  heart 
ascends  into  its  brain,  and  finds  a  higher  if  a  colder  life. 
It  is  only  in  despair,  in  inaction,  that  such  a  spirit  suffers 
long.  The  stronger  the  faculties  of  the  soul,  the  more  it 
gaffers  in  inaction.  An  idiot  will  sit  all  day,  and  day  after 
day,  happy  in  idleness ;  an  intelligent  child  will  be  miser- 
able if  confined  an  hour  without  employment  or  amuse- 
ment. An  extremely  aged  person  will  sit  week  after  week 
in  the  same  arm-chair,  in  the  same  corner  of  the  same  room, 
pleased  and  happy ;  a  young  person  grows  weary  if  a  day's 
rain  confines  him  to  the  house.  A  feeble  and  subdued  pri- 
soner will  linger  out  years  in  his  cell  in  a  sort  of  torpid 
resignation  ;  a  healthy,  strong  captive  struggles  and  chafes 
in  his  fetters.  The  soul  is  a  sort  of  prisoner  in  the  body — 
and  the  stronger  and  more  healthy  it  is,  the  more  it  chafei 
and  frets,  until  it  finds  its  life  in  action — its  freedom  in 
action.  A  young  person,  full  of  repressed  life,  health,  and 
energy — full  of  strong  powers  that  crave  their  development 
—experiences  a  lassitude,  a  Lstlessness,  a  weariness  of  life, 
for  which  they  cannot  account,  especially  when  they  hear 
the  season  of  youth  spoken  of  as  the  season  of  joy.  Such 
a  yonng  person  will  take  to  reading  or  writing  sentimental 
poetry,  and  grow  weaker,  more  weary,  and  more  nseleai 


DIXIE     AT     THE     CRAGS,  809 

•rerj  day.  Now,  sentimental  poetry  has  its  mission,  but 
it  is  to  soften  the  hard — not  to  liquefy  the  already  soft. 
The  cure  of  such  brain-sick  youth  is  not  in  that.  Let  any 
young  man  or  woman,  tormented  by  this  terrible  ennui, 
take  my  word  for  it,  that  the  nature  of  their  suffering 
proves  them  to  possess  great  powers  undeveloped.  Let 
Buch  seek  their  vocation  and  pursue  it.  And  this  is  a 
sure  guide.  Let  them  find  out  that  useful  occupation  in 
which  they  take  the  most  pleasure,  and  then  bring  all  the 
powers  of  mind  and  body  to  a  focus  to  bear  upon  that  point 
—to  break  down  every  obstacle,  conquer  every  difficulty, 
and  press  onward  to  the  end,  however  distant,  however 
difficult,  however  seemingly  unattainable — for  then  at  least 
the  powers  of  the  soul  will  be  brought  out  in  all  their  glo- 
rious life,  energy,  and  joy.  Every  one  has  his  talent,  and 
he  will  suffer  in  proportion  as  he  lets  it  rust  in  his  heart. 
And  this  I  lay  down  as  a  rule,  without  an  exception,  that 
no  healthy  human  being — however  young,  beautiful,  loving, 
and  loved — however  intellectual,  however  wealthy,  power- 
ful, honored — that  NO  HEALTHY  HUMAN  BEING  CAN  BI 

HAPPY   WITHOUT   LABOR.       LABOR   18   DESTINY." 

"  I  am  knotting,"  smiled  Susan,  with  a  sad  sarcasm,  "yet 
I  do  not  find  in  accumulating  yards  of  cotton  fringe  and 
piles  of  toilet  covers  and  valances,  any  peculiar  pleasure ; 
nor  am  I  sensible  of  any  great  happiness  in  counting  these 
meshes." 

"  That  is  not  labor,  Miss  Somerville,  though  it  serves  to 
calm  your  nerves.  That  is  not  labor;  it  goes  on  mechani- 
cally, almost  without  your  consent-,  your  fingers  act  at 
your  heart  beats,  as  your  hugs  breathe — involuntarily. 
Yon  are  strong  and  idle,  and  you  want  work.  Labor  & 
destiny." 

"And  how,  with  your  limited  knowledge  of  the  world 
and  of  books,  have  you  arrived  at  that  conclusion  f" 

"  One  does  not  need  a  library,  or  a  tour  round  the  world. 


310  THI     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

Miss  Somerville,  ti  work  out  some  things.  All  human 
nature  is  contained  in  one  small  village  church — I  had 
almost  said,  in  one  small  child.  All  books  of  ethics  and 
philosophy  are  contained  in  one  pocket  Bible.  The  Bible, 
a  few  histories,  and  a  few  poems,  have  been  my  library,  an 
yon  know.  The  party  at  Mont  Crystal  was  my  tour  of  the 
world.  For  the  rest,  Miss  Susan,  while  you  were  loving,  1 
was  thinking.  I  saw  scores  of  young  girls  and  young  men 
at  Mont  Crystal,  all  seeming,  at  first  sight,  bright  and 
happy ;  but  all  in  proportion  to  their  strength  of  soul, 
deadly  weary  of  the  monotonous  round  of  eating,  drinking, 
dressing,  and  flirting.  Yet  that  was  said  to  have  been  a 
very  delightful  party ;  the  young  people  was  said  to  have 
enjoyed  themselves  heartily.  I  know  better ;  they  tired  of 
it  in  three  days,  and  only  continued  it  because  nothing 
better  offered  by  which  to  employ  themselves.  No — with 
all  other  means  and  appliances,  toil  is  an  indispensable 
requisite  to  happiness.  As  I  said,  every  one  has  his  or  her 
appointed  work,  and  is  tormented  with  restlessness  until 
they  have  found  it.  What  do  you  take  most  pleasure  in 
doing  Miss  Susan  ?  I  know — I  have  studied  you,  Miss 
Susan.  You  are  happiest  when  working  for  others,  without 
minding  what  that  work  may  be.  Miss  Susan,  you  must 
eeek  a  position  where  you  can  spend  your  days  in  the  service 
of  others.  If  I  could  choose  a  destiny  for  you,  you  should 
be  the  wife  of  some  wise,  calm,  strong,  country  clergyman, 
with  an  extensive  field  of  labor  before  him.  But  see,  Miss 
Susan,"  said  she  suddenly,  "  while  we  are  talking,  you  ara 
missing  the  effect  of  this  beautiful  moving  panorama  of 
clouds  over  the  sky  and  river.  The  descent  from  The  Cragi 
to  the  river  level  is  said  to  be  monotonous,  because  almost 
destitute  uf  vegetation — but  look  1  it  is  varied  with  every 
form  of  rock,  and  every  shade  of  gray.  Gold  in  the  sun- 
shine and  bronze  in  the  shade !  Every  little  fragment  of 
•tone  is  golf,  on  the  one  side  «wd  bronze  on  the  other.  Now 


DEATH     AT     THB     CRAGS.  811 

look  at  the  sky  and  the  river ;  see  the  gilded  clouds  sailing 
through  the  blue  ether,  and  their  shadows  moving  on  th« 
waters  !  See  The  lile  of  Rays,  how  it  sparkles  in  the  sun  I" 

"Yet  it  is  a  forsaken  and  emp'y  house." 

"  Just  now,  yes ;  but  it  beams  and  scintillates  all  the 
Mine.  And  now  raise  your  eyes  to  where  Mont  Crystal 
towers  on  the  opposite  bank,  with  its  white  granite  walli 
and  rows  of  crystal  windows  glancing  in  the  light." 

"Yes,  but  its  cold  splendor  incloses  an  aged  and  solitary 
woman." 

"You  find  gloom  in  every  thing  to-day,  Miss  Susan." 

"Ah!  Anna,  I  cannot  help  it." 

"But  look  at  this  picture,-  that  God  has  hung  out  before 
you.  See  how  the  sky  smiles  in  blessing  on  the  earth  and 
waters.  See  how  they  smile  back  in  love.  See  how  the 
clouds  combine,  dissolve,  and  change,  with  a  misty  bright- 
ness, an  ever-varying  radiance.  Did  ever  skies  beam  with 
more  love — did  ever  earth  smile  with  more  gladness  than 
now?  Oh!  look  and  listen,  and  acknowledge  God  in  his 
works.  The  halls  of  the  Island  Palace  are  lined  with  the 
rarest  works  of  the  greatest  masters.  Recall  that  master- 
piece of  Claude  Lorraine,  and  tell  me  if  it  approaches  this 
in  value,  though  that  cost  a  thousand  guineas,  and  could 
only  be  purchased  by  a  millionaire ;  and  this  is  hung  out  in 
the  sight  of  all,  for  nothing.  The  soul  of  the  artist  was  in 
that,  but  the  soul  of  God  is  in  this.  The  painter  expressed 
himself  there — the  Creator  reveals  himself  here.  How  can 
yon  be  gloomy,  while  God  is  smiling  on  you  through  the 
ikies?" 

Suddenly  Anna  grew  pale — started  as  she  gazed  down 
the  flight  of  rocks — turned,  as  by  an  instinctive  impulse,  to 
fly — seated  herself  again  as  by  a  second  resolution,  and 
gazed  steadily  out  upon  the  rocks. 

"What  is  the  matter,  Anna?"  inquired  Miss  Somernlle. 
Ana*  pointed  to  where  three  horsemen  were  just  coming  ia 


812  THE     11  0  T  H  E  B  -  1  N  -  L  A  W. 

light,  up  the  ascent  They  approached  the  house,  dif 
mounted,  and  walked  toward  Miss  Somerville  and  Anna. 
Anna  grew  paler  still,  trembled — then  setting  her  teeth, 
and  clinching  tightly  both  hands,  with  a  gesture  full  of 
strength  of  soul,  she  summoned  her  physical  energies  to 
their  post. 

"Miss  Susan  Somerville,  I  presume,"  said  the  first  man, 
lifting  his  hat  to  the  young  lady. 

"That  is  my  name,  sir,"  replied  she,  rising  to  receive  them. 

"My  name  is  Power,  deputy  sheriff  of county." 

"Will  you  come  in,  Mr.  Power?"  asked  Susan,  who 
heard  this  announcement  with  surprise,  but  not  fear.  She 
was  ignorant  of  any  cause  she  might  have  to  dread  the 
deputy  sheriff. 

"Thank  you,  Miss,"  he  replied,  and  followed  Susan  to 
the  sitting-room. 

"Take  a  chair,  sir." 

"No,  I  am  much  obliged  to  you,  Miss,"  he  said,  setting 
his  hat  and  whip  down  on  the  table,  and  rummaging  in  hii 
pockets  for  a  paper. 

Susan  watched  him  with  increasing  perplexity. 

"Let  me  see;  how  many  negroes  have  you  on  the  place, 
Miss  Somerville  ?" 

"I  have  no  domestics  to  hire  out,  sir,"  replied  Susan, 
believing  that  she  had  now  divined  the  motive  of  his  visit. 

"How  many  slaves  have  you  about  the  house,  then,  Mi*§ 
Somerville." 

"None,  sir." 

"What!  my  dear  young  lady." 

"  Sir,  I  have  my  foster-parents,  George  and  Harriet,  who 
bronght  me  up,  and  my  foster-sister  and  companion,  Anna, 
who  has  always  shared  my  room,  my  table,  and  my  school. 
They  are  quadroons.  I  do  not  call  them  slaves." 

"They  were  the  *laves  of  the  late   Major  SomerTiUt, 


BJSATH     AT     TH1     OBAftfc  ill 

"Yes,  sir." 

"And  they  are  yours  now." 

"No,  sir!  I  do  not  for  a  moment  acknowledge  any 
right  in  myself  to  hold  them.  My  dear  grandfather's  funeral 
took  place  on  yesterday  afternoon,  an  ^to-morrow  morning 
I  go  to  Richmond  to  take  measures  for  their  emancipation  i" 
said  Miss  Somerville,  in  a  cold,  severe  tone — for  now  she 
believed  herself  in  conversation  with  a  would-be  purchaser. 

"Will  you?  Ah!  yes,  well!  A  generous  and  praise- 
worthy design  on  your  part,  my  dear  young  lady,"  said  the 
deputy  sheriff,  perceiving  for  the  first  time  that  Susan  wai 
entirely  unsuspicious  of  the  object  of  his  visit. 

"  Will  you,  however,  let  me  see  these  people,  my  dew 
Miss  Somerville?" 

"Oh,  he  is  the  tax-gatherer!"  thought  Susan. 

"Certainly,  sir,"  she  replied;  then,  turning  to  Anns,  sh« 
•aid,  "Anna,  will  you  call  your  parents?" 

Anna  who  had  conquered  herself,  and  now  stood  calm, 
co'.d,  and  impassible,  went  out  to  obey. 

"Is  too*  one  of  them?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"IVwtf  girl?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Why,  she  is  white!" 

"Very  nearly,  sir." 

Anna  now  returned  to  the  room  with  her  parents.  Pi,cr 
George  entered  from  his  work-bench,  with  his  white  felt  hat 
on  his  head,  and  a  wisp  of  fine-cut  flag  and  his  working 
knife  in  his  hand.  He  pulled  off  his  hat  at  the  door,  and 
stood  waiting  to  be  spoken  to.  Harriet  stood  by  him,  with 
her  hand  resting  on  his  arm.  Anna  went  and  stood  by 
Susan. 

"  Your  name  is  George,  my  man  ?"  asked  the  deputy 
•heriff,  seating  himself  at  a  table,  and  taking  out  a  pocket 
apparatus  for  writing. 


414  THE     MOTHER- 1 V  -LAW. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Your  age  ?"  asked  the  sheriff,  beginning  to 

"  Sixty  years,  sir,"  replied  George. 

)"  And  your  wife's  name  is  Harriet  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Her  age  ?"  he  inquired,  continuing  to  make  cote*. 

"Forty-five,  sir." 

"  That  young  girl  is  your  daughter  ?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  father,  the  muscles  of  his  fwg 
twitching. 

"  Her  name — age  ?" 

"Anna — aged  eighteen,"  answered  the  poor  father,  in  a 
broken  voice,  clutching  the  old  white  hat  convulsively. 

The  sheriff  now  went  to  the  door,  and  called  in  the  three 
men  who  had  remained  in  the  piazza.  Two  of  them  entered 
and  remained  standing  near  the  door.  The  third  accom- 
panied him  to  the  table. 

"This  in  Mr.  Jones,  the  assessor,  MIBS  Somerrille,"  ke 
laid,  as  they  passed  Susan. 

"I  thought  that  you  were  the  assessor,  sir,"  said  Suiaa, 
simply. 

"No,  Miss,"  said  the  deputy,  without  smiling  at  feet 
mistake.  "Jones,"  he  said,  addressing  the  assessor,  "look 
at  that  man  and  tell  me  how  much  you  think  him  worth." 

"How  old  is  he?" 

"Sixty." 

"Hum!  he  looks  nearer  seventy;  but  these  mulatto*! 
break  down  very  early.  He  looks  very  worthless." 

"Say  one  hundred  and  fifty  dollars?" 

"  Ye-e-e-s — scarcely  that — " 

"  One  hundred  ?" 

"Well-11;  ye-e-esl" 

"  Look  at  the  woman.     What  is  he*  value  f» 

"How  old  ie  she?" 


DXJLTH     AT     THB     CRJ»OB.  816 

"She  looks  more  like  fifty.  Put  her  at — at — Has  your 
wife  good  health,  my  man  ?" 

Yes,  sir,"  sighed  George. 

"Well!  there  is  some  work  in  her  yet.  Put  her  at  two 
hundred  dollars." 

"Now,  then,  for  the  girl;  you  see  what  her  personal 
appearance  is — eighteen  years  oldj  well  educated,  and  all 
that — now,  what  is  her  value?" 

The  assessor  looked  at  Anna;  and,  as  his  sensual  eyes 
roved  all  over  her  girlish  figure,.gloating  on  her  beauty,  he 
muttered  an  exclamation — 

"She  is  a  handsome  girl,  and  it  would  be  a  good  spec'  to 
take  her  to  New  Orleans.  She'd  bring  twelve  or  fifteen 
hundred  dollars!" 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Susan  Somerville  turning  toward 
them,  "you  will  do  me  a  favor  by  getting  this  assessment 
over  as  quickly  as  may  be.  Set  your  valuation  as  high  as 
you  please.  I  do  not  care  for  u  few  dollars  more  or  less 
of  taxation,  but  I  do  care  to  have  my  privacy  invaded  and 
my  friends  here  subjected  to  this  indignity — the  last,  if  it 
please  Heaven,  that  they  shall  ever  suffer,  for  to-morrow  I 
will  take  measures  for  their  immediate  emancipation  I  Pray, 
gentlemen,  be  expeditious — will  you  ?" 

"A  moment,  young  lady,  a  moment.  At  what  do  you 
ralue  the  wench,  Jones?" 

The  assessor  walked  toward  Anna,  still  keeping  his 
brutish  eyes  riveted  upon  her;  and,  walking  around  her  as 
though  she  had  been  a  horse  for  sale,  he  lifted  his  hand  to 
turn  her  about. 

"T)EATH!  Hands  off  my  daughter,  sirl"  exclaimed  tht 
hitherto  patient  George,  springing  to  his  child's  side. 

But,  even  before  he  had  reached  her,  the  calm-souled 
dignity  of  Anna,  breathing  through  every  look  and  attitud*, 
had  repulsed  him.  He  returned  to  the  table. 


816  THI     MO  THE  B    IN.Li.tf. 

"She  would  bring  fif.een  hundred  or  a  thousand  loll  an 
te  New  Orleans." 

"That  is  not  the  question  ;  what  would  she  bring  here  f 

"  Gentlemen,  I  beg  of  you" — commenced  Susan  Somet 
rille. 

(<Be  patient,  young  lady.  What  is  her  value  here, 
Jones  ?" 

"  Gentlemen,  I  insist" — began  Susan  again,  with  her 
cheeks  burning  and  her  eyes  flashing,  "  I  insist  that  this  ia 
arrested.  I  command  you  to  finish  your  business  and 
leave  us." 

"One  instant,  Miss  Somerville.  Well,  Jones  her  valut 
is—" 

"  Three  hundred  dollars  I" 

"My  dear  Anna,  can  you  forgive  me,  that  this  outrage 
Is  offered  you  before  my  face  ?" 

"Yon  cannot  help  it,  dear  Miss  Somerville,"  replied 
Anna,  calmly. 

"  Have  you  done,  gentlemen  f "  indignantly  demanded 
Miss  Somerville,  as  the  deputy  and  the  assessor  folded  up 
.heir  papers,  and  returned  them  to  their  pockets,  and  pro- 
**eded  to  button  up  their  coats,  "  have  you  done,  gentle- 
men f" 

"  Miss  Somerville,"  began  the  deputy,  "  I  h&ve  now  to 
perform  a  very  painful  duty ;  a  simple  and  shcrt  one,  how- 
ever." 

"  Yes,  as  short  as  an  execution,"  muttered  George. 

"  Miss  Somerville,  I  attach  this  property  at  th.3  suit  of 
Spier  &  Co.,  Grocers,  Peakville." 

8:  *an  started  to  her  feet,  clasped  her  hands,  and  turned 
deadly  pale,  as  the  truth  suddenly  struck  her. 

Anna  stood  still  and  white. 

George  and  Harrht  threw  themselves  in  each  other's 
arms,  with  a  cry. 

41  To  m  94O&8,  Briggs  and  Brown  !  look  to  the  doors  t* 


DIATH     At     THE     CRAGS.  317 

shouted  the  deputy,  whom  this  action  had  alarmed,  spring* 
lag  to  his  feet. 

The  two  constables  sprang  to  the  doors,  securing  them. 

"  Cock  your  pistols  1" 

"It  is  unnecessary,  sir;  we  will  make  no  resistance,"  said 
George,  gently  disengaging  the  arms  of  his  wife  from  about 
his  neck. 

"  Oh,  my  Saviour,  ray  Saviour,  have  mercy  on  us  1"  cried 
Susan,  wringing  her  hands. 

"Be  patient,  Miss  Susan,  dear  Miss  Susan,"  said  Anna, 
caressing  her. 

"  Have  you  the  handcuffs,  Jones  ?" 

"Yes;  here  they  are." 

"  Oh,  my  God,  no  !  you  will  never  do  that,"  cried  Susat, 
in  anguish. 

"  My  dear  young  lady,  if  men  were  turned  by  the  tears 
of  women,  we  should  never  do  our  duty.  Give  me  the  fet- 
ters, Jones ;  here,  we  will  secure  the  two  women  together, 
and  then  the  man  by  himself." 

And  the  deputy,  taking  the  fetters,  went  up  to  the  spot 
where  Anna  and  her  mother  now  stood,  locked  in  each 
Other's  arms. 

11  YOU  SHALL  NOT  DO  IT  I      Away  !      YOU  SHALL  NOT   DO 

tr  I"  shouted  George,  bounding  between  his  wife  and  child 
and  the  officers,  and  brandishing  his  knife — all  the  latent 
and  terrible  ferocity  of  the  MIXED  BLOOD  leaping,  like 
forked  lightning,  from  his  eyes. 

"  I  have  been  patient !  I  would  have  followed  you  like  a 
whipped  hound  follows  his  master ;  you  might  hare  hand- 
cuffed me,  but  not  them.  See,  I  am  her  father ;  and  I  will 
bury  this  knife  in  your  heart  or  in  hers,  sooner  than  yo? 
shall  place  a  fetter  on  her  wrist." 

"What!  the  devil!    You  <f — d  mulatto  rassal,  do  f* 
resist  an  officer  of  the  law  ?" 

"  To  THJJ  DEATH  I  in  this  case." 


318  THE     MOTHKB. IK-LAW. 

With  no  more  ado,  the  deputy  suddenly  raised  th«  ent 
of  the  loaded  whip  and  brought  it  down  in  a  sharp  and 
•tunning  blow  upon  the  head  of  the  gray-haired  slaye,  who 
dropped  in  a  heap  at  his  feet. 

With  a  piercing  scream,  Susan  Somerville  sprang  for- 
ward, and  fell  upon  her  face  in  a  death-like  swoon. 

Harriet,  pale  with  terror,  clung  helplessly  to  her  daugh- 
ter. 

Anna  alone  was  self-possessed. 

"  Sit  down,  dear  mother,  and  let  me  attend  to  Miss  Susan 
and  father ;  or,  mother,  try  to  attend  father  while  I  get 
Miss  Susan  up  stairs."  And  gently  easing  her  trembling 
mother  down  upon  a  chair,  she  went  to  Susan's  side,  and, 
lifting  her  head,  and  addressing  herself  to  one  of  the  men 
who  had  taken  no  part  in  this  violent  scene,  beyond  guard- 
ing the  doors,  she  said — 

"Will  yon  be  so  good  as  to  lift  this  young  lady  and 
bring  her  up  stairs  with  me  ?" 

The  man  looked  at  his  superior  for  permission. 

"  Yes,  take  her  along,"  said  ti.e  deputy ;  "  it's  the  deriPi 
own  business,  an  affair  of  this  kind,  where  there  are  io 
many  women  about." 

And  the  officer  raised  Susan  in  his  arms,  and  bore  hei 
after  Anna,  who  led  the  way  up  stairs. 

Taking  advantage  of  Susan's  swoon,  Anna'g  absence, 
nnd  George's  insensibility,  to  finish  the  afltoir  quickly  and 
quietly,  the  deputy  sheriff  attached  the  little  old  family 
cart,  the  old  family  horse,  and  harnessing  it  up,  bound 
George  and  laid  him  in  the  bottom  of  it ;  placing  Harriet, 
who  willingly  accompanied  him,  by  his  side.  Then,  leay- 
fog  a  bailiff  in  charge,  the  deputy  set  off  for  the  county  town. 

They  were  a  mile  from  The  Crags  before  Susan  Soraer- 
yille  recovered  from  her  swoon.  She  recovered  painfully 
with  spasmodic  twitchings — opened  her  eyes,  groaned,  ghiy« 


D11.TH     AT     THS    C  R  i.  »  8.  Sit 

•red,  closed  them  again.  Soon  reopening  them,  she  looked 
around,  and,  seeing  Anna,  said — 

"Anna!  Anna!  are  you  there  ?  Oh,  Anna,  I  have  had 
the  most  dreadful  nightmare  1"  and  sighed  heavily  again, 
and  covered  her  eyes  with  her  hands,  as  shudderings  con- 
vulsed her  frame.  Then  flaring  her  eyes  wide  open,  she 
started  up  in  bed,  caught  both  Anna's  hands  in  her  own, 
and  gazed  long  and  scarchingly  in  her  face.  Then  groan- 
ing, "  Oh  my  God  !  It  was  no  dream!  It  was  true  I11 
fell  back  and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  In  a  few 
Biinutes,  without  uncovering  her  face,  she  inquired,  "  Where 
are  they,  Anna  ?" 

"  Gone,  Miss  Susan." 

"  I  mean  your  mother  and  father  ?" 

"  Gone /" 

"  Oh,  my  God  !     And  you,  Anna !" 

"  I  am  left  here  in  charge  of  a  bailiff  nntil  some  other 
assistance  can  be  sent  to  you.  Perhaps  I  shall  stay  all 
night  with  you.  And  now,  Miss  Susan,  pray  and  try  to 
calm  your  mind,  for  to-morrow  you  must  do  something." 

"What  is  it,  Anna  ?  Oh,  suggest  something  that  I  can 
do,  and  never  fear  but  that  I  shall  get  better,  and  grow 
strong  enough  instantly  to  do  it.  It  is  the  helplessness  of 
our  situation  that  makes  me  despairing  and  ill." 

"  Then,  Miss  Susan,  you  had  better  write  to  General  Stn- 
art- Gordon  ;  he  will  assist  us,  without  doubt.  Notice  will 
have  to  be  given  a  certain  number  of  days  before  any  sale 
is  made,  and  in  that  time  General  Stuart-Gordon  can  bt 
heard  from." 

"  I  will  write  to-night,  Anna." 

"  No,  Miss  Susan,  you  could  not  hold  a  pen  ;  to-morrow 
will  be  quite  time  enough." 

"  Alas  1  Anna,  what  has  not '  to-morrow '  cost  us  already  7 
It  was  to-morrow  that  1  was  to  have  gone  to  Richmond  to 


820  THE     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

•ee  about  doing  you  justice  !  Ah,  Anna  !  if  I  had  gone 
to-day,  you  and  your  parents  might  have  been  saved  !" 

"  Not  so,  Miss  Susan  I  We  were  matched  ;  they  would 
have  followed  and  attached  us  on  the  road." 

"  Ah  I  if  I  thought  it  was  inevitable,  I  should  not  suffer 
guch  pangs  of  remorse ;  but,  oh !  I  fear  it  was  my  delay 
Alone.  Yet  I  never  dreamed  of  an  execution." 

"It  was  inevitable,  Miss  Susan.  You  could  not  help  it 
Try  to  be  composed." 

"  You  are  so  composed,  Annal  How  it  it  that  you  art 
•o  composed  ?" 

"Ah,  Miss  Susan,  a  misfortune  long  looked  for  does  not 
startle  one  when  it  arrives." 

"  You  expected  this  long,  then  ?" 

"For  more  than  six  months,  Miss  Somerville." 

"  Ah  !  why  did  you  not  tell  me  ?" 

"You  could  not  have  averted  it;  why  torment  you  with 
it,  then,  Miss  Susan  ?" 

"  Then,  when  I  supposed  you  to  be  grieving  over  your 
own  position,  you  were  only  dreading  this  catastrophe  i* 

"  That  was  it,  Miss  Susan." 

"  Oh,  my  dear  Anna  !  I  have  never  done  you  justice." 

"  Try  to  rest,  Miss  Susan." 

A  silence  ensued.  Anna  supposed  Miss  Somerville  to  be 
toniposing  herself  to  sleep,  but  presently  the  low  sounds  of 
weeping,  under  the  sheets,  stole  on  her  ear.  At  last — 

"  Anna,  are  you  there  yet?"  murmured  Susan. 

"Yes,  Miss  Susan." 

'  Go  to  bed,  Anna !  Do  go  to  bed.  Something  muM 
oe  done,  if  it  be  in  the  power  of  human  tears,  and  prayers, 
and  persuasions.  I  will  humble  myself  to  these  men,  Anna. 
Oh  I  if  ^uman  hearts  can  be  moved  by  human  misery,  yon 
•hall  be  aaved,  Anna." 

"  Ahl*  thought  Anna,  "  they  will  have  but  one  aniww 
rf>  your  prajers,  Miss  Sesan— '  the  lav  1'  *'  bat  ibe  MI4 


DKATH     AT     THE     CRAGS.  821 

"Yes,  hope,  Miss  Somerville."  And  feeling  that  Susan 
eould  not  grow  quiet  unless  she  herself  seemed  to  rest,  Anna 
lifted  Sasau's  hand,  pressed  and  kissed  it,  and  bade  her  good 
night.  Susan  turned  on  her  pillow,  seeming  to  sleep,  bit 
really  busying  herself  with  a  thousand  impossible  plans  for 
saving  her  foster-sister,  and  redeeming  George  and  Harriet. 

Anna  withdrew  to  the  window  to  draw  the  curtain  and 
exclude  the  moonbeams,  that  her  mistress  might  sleep  more 
quietly.  And  she  looked  out  upon  the  rocks  falling  down 
to  the  river,  the  river  and  the  banks  floating  in  a  flood  of 
silvery  radiance,  and  The  Isle  of  Rays  glancing  towards  the 
sky  in  streams  of  light,  like  a  sheaf  of  diamond-tipped  ar- 
rows. She  whispered,  "  Oh,  beautiful !  My  old  father — 
my  gentle  mother  !  it  is  in  the  midst  of  God's  beautiful  cre- 
ation that  these  deeds  of  hate  are  done.  Yet,  not  of  hale — 
let  me  be  just.  Let  me  be  patient.  Let  no  passion  of 
mine  distort  a  local  necessity  into  a  deed  of  hate.  Oh, 
thou  CruciGed !  who  rememberedst  amid  the  agony  of  the 
cross  that  Thy  executioners  knew  not  what  they  did,  and 
prayed  for  them,  give  me  a  portion  of  Thine  own  divine 
calmness,  patience,  and  justice.  Let  me  remember  the  posi- 
tion, the  education,  the  prejudices,  the  undisciplined  pas- 
sions of  these  men,  and  do  them  justice.  How  beautiful, 
how  holy,  this  night.  How  sublimely  calm.  Let  no  storm 
arise  in  my  own  bosom  to  desecrate  this  holy  calm." 

And,  oh  !  a  divine  peace  was  let  down  from  Heaven  into 
the  depths  of  her  spirit,  and  her  heart  was  flooded  with  pa- 
tience and  love,  still  dilating  into  a  strange  joy. 

"  What  is  this  ?  oh,  angels  1  what  is  this  I  Jrerything, 
from  the  cer.tre  of  my  own  spirit  to  the  bounds  of  creation, 
»eems  expanding,  brightening,  and  rising." 

A  heavenly  languor  was  stealing  over  her  frame  ;  she 
bowed  her  head  upon  the  window-sill  and  fell  asleep. 

Heavenly  dreams  visited  her — the  wall  of  the  room  dit- 
appear*d-  -the  horizon  expanded — the  sky  was  lifted  up— 


822  THl 

the  hearens  opened — the  wings  of  angels  brightened  the 

§ky — the  voices  of  angels  made  melodious  the  air. 

Oh,  ye  sorrowing  I  make  clear  the  paths  of  the  angels  to 
four  souls.  Dismiss  anger,  fear,  and  selfishness,  that  the 
angels  may  come  and  minister  to  yon. 

"  nil  sorrow,  touched  by  God,  grow*  bright 

With  more  than  rapture'*  ray, 
As  darkneM  ihowi  c«  worldi  of  light 

We  sever  uw  by  day !" 

******** 

Early  in  the  morning,  Susan  Somerville  arose,  and  seeing 
the  form  of  Anna  reclining  on  the  window-sill,  and  bathed 
In  the  glory  of  the  morning  sun,  she  went  up  to  her,  spoke 
to  her,  and  receiving  no  reply,  touched  her,  and  started 
back  with  terror — ANNA  WAS  DEAD  ! 
******** 

The  physician  pronounced  her  death  to  have  proceeded 
from  some  organic  disease  of  the  heart. 

And  no  one  disputed  the  decision  of  the  modical  faculty. 
The  coroner's  jury  came  nearer  the  truth  in  their  rerdict 
"A  VISITATION  o?  GOD." 


CHAPTER 

THl  QIBFALOOM. 

Tito  ill  :mU  h»T«  fceem  a  noble  ere* t w*,  al» 

Bath  all  til*  energy  that  would  hare  a»<U 

A  goodly  fr»m«  of  R lorione  olemenU, 

B*d  they  been  wisely  mingled— M  it  in, 

An  awful  chaos— light  and  darknea*. 

And  mind  and  dust,  and  passions  and  pare  thoiffc*. 

Mixed  and  contending  without  end  or  order, 

All  dormant  or  dwtrnctire :  she  will  perUh— 

And  jet  the  mnst  not ;  anon  are  worth  redeapUoa.— Jyrew 

IT  was  a  queer  place — the  chamber  where  young  Fro 
bisher  lay  at  The  Lair.  The  house  beiug  near  the  top  of 
the  mountain  peak,  and  the  room  near  the  top  of  the  house, 
ft  looked  down  a  dizzy  height. 

The  side  of  his  bed  was  placed  against  one  of  the  front 
windows,  so  that  the  patient  had  only  to  turn  over  toward 
it  to  enjoy  a  sublime  prospect  from  the  top  of  this  loftiest 
peak.  This  window  had  been  so  obscured  by  cobwebs  and 
fly-stains  as  to  make  a  curtain  superfluous,  until  the  arrival 
of  the  neat  little  housewife,  Zoe,  who  at  once  washed  it  off 
and  sent  to  «,ne  Dovecate  for  a  clean,  white  mnslia  curtain, 
which  was  always  looped  back  to  permit  the  invalid  to  look 
out.  This,  with  Zoe's  new  blue-and-white  quilt,  mad* 
the  chamber  look  neat  and  comfortable  enough,  "  consider- 
ing-" 

Imagine  an  elephantess  iu  a  poultry-yard,  trippJag  ft 
lightly  aad  softly  about,  for  fear  of  treading  on  the  young 
chieken*,  aad  yea  will  have  some  little  notion  of  how  our 
JLaaMi  stepped  about  tke  siek  room  of  her  patient  ipoa 
the  moninf  after  Bratas  had  left  hone  for  the  metropolis 

(HI) 


124  THE     MOTHEB-IN-L1.W. 

It  was  very  difficult  for  Gertrude  to  step  softly  or  speak 
low.  She  was  in  the  habit  of  shouting,  roaring,  leap- 
ing, running,  and  demolishing  everything  she  happened  to 
touch,  and  otherwise  expending  her  excess  of  vital  energy ; 
and  now  she  trippsi  about  the  room  as  awkwardly  as  a 
condor  in  a  quadrille  might  do.  Zoe  was  in  the  room,  too, 
but  gliding  BO  spirit-like  about,  that  you  would  scarcely 
have  known  her  presence.  Their  patient  was  supposed  to 


"  Hush-sh-sh-sh  1  Gertrude,"  whispered  Zoe,  as  the  for- 
mer brought  down  a  vial  on  the  table,  with  the  bang  of  a 
hammer  on  the  anvil,  shivering  the  vial  in  the  act. 

"  Sh-sh-sh  1  ain't  I  sh-sh-ing  all  I  can  !  1  do  wonders 
Something  will  happen  to  me  yet,  with  all  this  'sh-sh-sh-ing. 
Didn't  I  like  to  fall  down  stairs  by  coming  softly  up  ?  And 
I  shall  break  a  blood-vessel,  too,  by  trying  to  talk  low — I 
know  I  shall ;  keeping  in  so  much  breath  will  explode  my 
ribs — I  know  it  will !" 

"Hush-sh-sh!  Gertrude;  don't  whisper ;  a  whisper  in  a 
sick-room  is  more  annoying  than  a  talk,"  murmured  Zoe, 
moving  from  the  chamber,  as  the  most  effectual  way  of  pre- 
venting conversation. 

"  Left  alone,  Gertrude  stepped  up  to  the  side  of  the  bed, 
and,  tossing  back  her  heavy  fall  of  yellow  hair,  stooped 
over  the  sleeping  patient.  He  was  lying  with  his  face  to- 
ward the  window,  his  eyes  closed,  his  black  silky  hair  drop- 
ping soft  shadows  over  his  temple  and  throat.  Gertrude 
looked  over  him  as  one  might  look  at  a  very  charming  pic- 
ture, or  a  beautiful  sleeping  child,  and  a  smile  dimpled  her 
mouth,  and  half  closed  her  eyes,  as  she  looked — then  the 
fair  Amazon  cautiously  put  out  one  finger,  and  softly 
touched  a  black  curl  that  coiled  upon  the  transparent  tem- 
ple— then  suddenly  drew  back  her  hand,  as  though  she 
feared  that  at  a  touch  this  Adonis  might  blow  up,  or 
Belt  away.  Still  she  looked  at  the  sleeping  fact,  aa  tbt 


THE     ftEBFALCOir.  126 


child  looks  at  something  very  charming  aid  curious,  but 
which  it  is  forbidden  to  meddle  with.  "  Oh,  be  is  so  beau- 
tiful I  so  beautiful  I"  she  ixurmured  to  herself,  still  curi- 
ously fascinated  by  the  exquisitely  delicate  features  and 
complexion.  At  last,  however,  as  she  looked,  she  saw  the 
black  eyelashes  of  the  youth  begin  to  tremble  on  his  white 
cheeks,  and  the  corner  of  his  chiseled  lips  began  to  quiver 
with  suppressed  humor.  Her  sanguine  blood  rushed  to  her 
brow  just  as  he  lost  command  of  his  countenance,  and 
opened  his  eyes  with  an  angelic  smile. 

"  I  was  not  asleep,  dear  Gertrude  I" 

"  Oh  !  thank  you  for  confession  immediately  following 
detection,"  said  the  Gerfalcon,  moving  from  the  bedside. 

"  Come  back,  dear  Gertrude,  I  want  to  talk  to  you." 

"  No  —  you  must  sleep." 

"I  cannot,  Gertrude;  I  have  had  sleep  enough." 

"  But  you  haven't,"  said  Gertrude,  returning  ;  "  you 
have  not.  Come,  shut  your  eyes,  and  go  to  sleep  —  that's  a 
good  boy  —  do  —  that's  a  dear  boy  —  think  what  your  mamma 
would  say  if  she  knew  how  you  trifled  with  your  precious 
health.  Come,  now,  shut  your  eyes,  and  go  to  sleep,  while 
I  draw  these  curtains  —  that's  a  sweet  boy  !"  and  stooping 
down,  Gertrude  placed  her  two  hands  each  side  of  his  head, 
patted  him,  and  ran  away. 

"  What  a  strange  girl  !  and  how  singular  that  she  talks 
to  me  a?  though  I  were  a  child  !  But,  perhaps,  it  is  not  so 
strange,  since  every  American  youth  I  have  met  with  looks 
older  at  fourteen  —  in  the  face,  at  least  —  than  I  do  at 
twenty-six;  that  is  the  reason  she  takes  me  for  a  boy. 
Well  !  that  mistake  is  not  unpleasant  in  some  of  its  effects. 
What  a  magnificent  girl  !  the  largest  woman  I  ever  saw, 
yet  the  most  elegantly  proportioned,  and  the  most  delicately 
finished.  There  is  nothing  coarse  in  her  vast  beauty.  Why, 
her  finger-ends,  her  eyelids,  her  nostrils,  have  that  exquisite 
transparency,  that  fin<  ness  of  fibre,  belonging  to  the  highert 


526  THE      MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

order  of  Caucasian  beauty.  But  where  are  my  thought! 
wandering  to  now !  I  began  by  thinking  how  I  should  de- 
light ray  friend  Lawrence,  by  giving  him  a  sketch  of  this 
Amazonian  beauty  found  in  the  wilds  of  America — I  iavf 
ended  with —  Well  I  I  must  not  have  those  soft  finger* 
elasp  my  face — rich  lips  hover  over  my  lips  so  often  !' 
And  the  youth  raised  himself  on  his  elbow,  shook  his  pillow 
Yehemently,  turned  it,  and  dropped  again  exhausted.  While 
looking  through  the  window,  his  eye  roved  over  mountain, 
wood,  and  water.  "  Oh,  how  I  wish  my  friend  Turner 
were  only  here,  to  paint  this  scene.  Singular,  they  roam 
all  over  Europe — ground  that  has  been  traveled,  painted, 
and  described,  until  every  part  of  it  is  familiar  to  all — while 
these  unknown  scenes  of  wildest  beauty,  of  the  most  terrible 
sublimity,  remain  unsought,"  he  murmured ;  then,  "  Pshaw ! 
I  talk  of  one  thing  and  think  of  another.  That  peerless 
girl !  She  is  unique  1  there  is  but  one  of  her  species !  The 
clearest,  purest  eyes,  the  clearest,  purest  soul  that  ever  any 
one  looked  through  and  through.  That  wondrous  girl ! 
She  draws  me  toward  her  with  the  force  of  a  maelstrom. 
I  wonder  who  she  is — who  brought  her  up  ?"  Then  rising 
on  his  elbow,  he  looked  out  again  upon  the  mountain-scene, 
while  his  thoughts  roved  from  one  subject  to  another  with 
feverish  vehemence.  Growing  tired  of  this  occupation,  he 
took  a  stick  that  stood  near  the  head  of  his  bed,  in  lieu  of  a 
bell,  and  struck  it  three  or  four  times  on  the  floor.  Soon 
he  heard  a  rushing  up  the  stairs,  and  Gertrude  entered, 
bearing  a  clean  shirt  in  one  hand,  and  a  bundle  of  linen  in 
the  other. 

"Ah!  you  have  slept.  That  is  right.  You  are  strong 
enough  to  have  your  wound  dressed  and  change  your  shirt, 
and  then  you  shall  have  a  broiled  partridge  for  dinner. 
Zoe  is  broiling  it  now."  And,  approaching  the  bedside, 
•he  laid  down  her  bundles  and  began  to  open  his  shirt-bo- 
gom  to  dress  bis  w  )und,  saying,  all  the  time.  "  Now,  dont 


THI     GBBFALCOIT.  32T 


wince,  don't  shrink  ;     I  won't  hurt  yon,  rough  as  I 
indeed  I  won't.     There,  be  a  good  boy,  and  take  it  pa- 
tiently." 

After  she  had  finished  dressing  the  wound,  he  said — 

"  Thank  yon,  dear  Gertrude.  I  will  trouble  you  to  bring 
me  a  glass  of  water." 

"  Yes,  certainly,"  and  she  went  below ;  and  by  the  time 
the  young  man  had  performed  his  toilet,  she  returned  with  » 
glass  of  water,  followed  by  Zoe  bearing  his  nice  little  dinnei 
on  a  tray.  He  took  no  more  notice  of  Zoe  than  if  she  had 
been  a  little  kitten.  When  the  meal  was  over,  Zoe  took  up 
the  tray  and  left  the  room.  Gertrude  was  about  to  follow, 
when  the  young  man  called  her  back. 

"  Will  you  not  remain  with  me  an  hour,  dear  Gertrude, 
to  help  me  to  while  away  the  tedious  afternoon  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes  !  certainly.  I  only  want  to  go  down  and  feed 
Borealis;  then  I'll  return." 

"  Borealis !" 

"Yes — my  white  horse." 

"  Oh !" 

And  Gertrude  left  the  room  for  about  half  an  hour. 
"  Decidedly,  Frobisher,  you  will  have  to  do  one  of  two 
things — make  up  your  mind  to  woo  and  wed  this  young 
Amazon,  or  to  avoid  her  altogether.  I  wonder  what  sort 
of  an  education  she  has  received  ?"  Seeing  Gertrude  re- 
turn and  take  her  seat  by  his  bed,  he  turned  around  on  his 
pillow,  rested  his  head  on  his  hand,  and  asked — 

"  Will  you  read  to  me,  Gertrude  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes  I"  said  the  Gerfalcon,  rising  and  going  into  an- 
other room.  Presently  she  came  back,  took  her  seat,  and, 
opening  her  book,  prepared  to  commence. 

"What  have  you  got  there,  Gertrude  ?" 

"  It  is  the  legend  of  the  Seven  Champions  of  Christen- 
dom. It  is  a  very  grand  thing.  Takes  my  breath  quit* 


M8  THK     HOTHBR-IW-L1.W. 

away  »o  read  it,  although  few  things  have  the  power  to  de 
that.  Yes,  a  great  work  this  I  such  splendid  fighting  !n 

"  Is  that  your  first  favorite,  Gertrude  ?" 

"Yes;  but  I  have  others." 

"  And  what  may  they  be  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  like  St  George  and  the  Dragon,  Una  and  tht 
Lioo,  and  a  Gerrjan  story  Brighty  read  to  me  once — th« 
Wild  Huntsman—" 

"  That  who  read  to  you  ?" 

"  That  Brighty,  Mrs.  General  Stuart-Gordon — " 

"  Ah  1  you  know  her  then  ?" 

"Yes:  do  you?" 

"  I  have  met  her  ;  but  now  tell  me  your  other  favorites.' 

"  Well,  I  like  all  those  I  named,  because  they  had  suck 
splendid  riding  and  racing  and  fighting  and  flying  all 
through  it ;  but,  oh  !  my  favorite  of  favorites  !" 

"  Well,  dear  Gertrude,  and  what  is  that  ?" 

"Oh,  Milton's  Paradise  Lost  I  MiKon's  Paradise  Lost ! 
Oh  !  there  was  magnificent  fighting  there ! — Heaven  and 
Hell  in  battle-array — all  space  for  a  battle-field — the  throne 
cf  the  universe  the  stake — and  angels  and  devils  hurling 
planets  at  each  other  I  Oh,  that  was  a  touch  above  the 
•ublime.  I  can  conceive  that  it  took  a  blind  man  to  write 
that !» 

"  Yes,  dear  Gertrude,  a  blind  man — a  man  in  spiritual 
a*  in  visual  darkness.  War  in  heaven !  Gertrude,  does 
not  that  strike  you  as  horrible  blasphemy  ?" 

"No,  it  don't." 

"  Well !  we  will  not  argue  that  question  now.  Now, 
Gertrude,  is  that  all  your  reading  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  believe  so." 

"You  should  read  history,  and  travels,  and  voyage*, 
Bertrade." 

"Oh,  I  do." 


THE     GERFALCON.  829 

"  Ah,  that  is  well.  What  history  and  whose  travels  do 
you  read." 

"Oh,  I  read  the  history  of  Jack  the  Giant-Killer,  and 
Gulliver's  Travels,  and  the  Voyages  of  Sinbad  the  Sailor. 
Hash  1  what  are  you  laughing  at,  boy !  If  yon  laugh  so 
loud  as  that,  you'll  make  your  uose  bleed — no,  I  mean  youi 
wound." 

The  young  man  was,  in  fact,  laughing  very  heartily. 

"  Come  I  I  shall  get  mad.  I  think  it  is  very  improper 
for  boys  to  laugh  at  their  elders." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  dear  Gertrude.  Now,  go  on  with 
your  reading." 

"  I  won't ,  there  now !  You  have  put  me  out,  and  so 
you  may  just  do  without  it." 

44  I  submit,  dear  Gertrude,"  said  the  young  man,  in  hia 
mellifluous  tones. 

Gertrude  looked  at  him,  with  her  blazing  eyes  a  little 
softened. 

41  Oh,  I'll  read  to  you,"  then  she  said. 

"No,  Gertrude." 

"  Oh,  but  I  will." 

14  I  will  not  hear  you  now,  Gertrude." 

"  But  I  was  only  joking,  my  boy." 

"Nevertheless,  1  will  not  trouble  yon." 

44  You  are  angry !  that's  what  you  are  1"  exclaimed  the 
Amazon,  bursting  into  fury,  throwing  down  the  book,  and 
sending  it  with  her  foot  to  the  opposite  end  of  the  room. 
44  Yes,  you  are  angry  !  thaPs  what  you  are.  Now,  if  yen 
are  angry,  why  don't  you  quarrel  and  have  done  with  it, 
and  then  hear  the  reading.  Why  don't  you  quarrel,  and 
not  lay  there  saying  '  No,'  and  '  No,'  in  your  flute  tones,  to 
make  me  miserable.  I  never  was  crossed  in  my  life,  and  I 
won't  be  crossed  now  and  made  miserable  by  a  refractory 
boy  I  and  I'll  let  you  know,  sir,  that  your  tutor  is  in  the 
kouse,  and,  if  you  d~  not  behave  yotrself,  he  shall  come  np 


ISO  THE     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

and  gire  you  a  lesson  in  Greek.  Why  don't  you  quarrel, 
hey  ?  What  are  you  sulking  about  ?  If  you  are  angry, 
why  don't  you  quarrel  ?  You  won't  ?  Well,  I  don't  care 
—a  dumb  devil  is  better  than  a  talking  one  I" 

"  Gertrude  1" 

The  two  syllables  fell  on  her  ears  like  two  low,  sweet* 
IW1  music  notes.  She  wheeled  abruptly  round  to  see  him 
looking  at  her  with  his  large,  tender  eyes.  With  a  quick 
rernlsion  of  feeling,  Gertrude  burst  into  tears,  and  hurried 
toward  him,  covering  him  with  caresses. 

"  Poor  boy  !  poor  boy !  It  is  I  who  am  a  barbarian  T 
but  then  I  always  was  so  used  to  Brutus.  He  quarrels  back 
again,  and  we  get  our  accounts  evenly  balanced.  So  I  am 
not  fit  to  deal  with  a  gentle*  boy  like  you." 

"  Let  us  now  return  to  the  subject  of  your  books. " 

"  Shall  I  read  to  you  ?" 

"No!" 

"  Oh  !  yon  won't  let  me  do  that.     You  are  stubborn." 

"What  other  books  have  you  read  ?" 

"None  others  at  all,  except  the  heathen  mythology." 

"  And  you  like  that  ?" 

"  Oh  I  very  much  indeed.  The  schoolmaster  used  to  tell 
as  that  these  heathen  fables  were  a  bunch  of  keys — that 
each  fable  was  a  key  to  unlock  the  mystery  of  some  truth, 
tf  we  would  but  fit  the  key  into  the  right  lock." 

"Who  brought  you  up,  Gertrude  ?" 

11  Nobody  !     I  came  up  of  myself." 

"  Who  educated  you  ?" 

"The  schoolmaster." 

"  Satisfactory  that—" 

"  If  you  mean  who  raised  me,  Brutus  did." 

"  Only  Brutus  ?" 

"Yes  !  that  is,  we  were  left  in  charge  of  an  old  grand- 
incie,  but  he  fell  into  dotage  before  I  can  remember.  Bra* 
fcu  took  eare  of : 


THE   eiBrALooir.  SSI 


"Ah  I  that  explains  everything.  So  yon  never  had  a 
mother's  or  any  female  relation  or  friend's  care  in  your  in- 
fancy and  childhood." 

"  I  had  an  old  black  nurse,  who  used  to  curse  and  shake 
me  when  she  got  angry,  and  smother  me  with  offensive  ca- 
resses when  she  was  in  a  good  humor,  until  I  got  big 
enough  to  scratch  and  bite,  and  resist,  and  then  Brutus  took 
me  away  from  her,  and  took  care  of  me  himself." 

"  How  old  are  you,  Gertrude  ?" 

"I  am  nineteen." 

"  How  old  where  you  when  your  mother  died  f" 

"  My  mother  died  the  same  hour  that  I  was  born  ;  my 
father  dted  four  years  after." 

"  Poor  girl  1" 

"  But,  poor  boy,  are  you  sure  that  you  are  not  hurt  by 
my  rudeness  ?  Oh,  I  am  so  sorry  about  it  !  I  would  not 
hurt  you  again  for  the  world.  Say,  are  you  sure  ?" 

The  youth  pressed  her  hand  affectionately  as  an  answer; 
then— 

"Who  are  your  friends  and  companions,  Gertrude  7" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know;  almost  every  body  in  the  county 
knows  uie.  They  don't  like  me,  I  believe,  but  that  is  be- 
cause they  don't  know  how  well  I  like  them,  and  I  have  not 
time  to  teach  them." 

"  Then  you  are  no  favorite  in  your  neighborhood  7" 

"N-no.  You  see  the  young  men  give  me  nicknames  — 
call  me  the  Gerfalcon,  and  what  not  ;  and  old  men  bob  their 
chins  down  in  their  neckcloths,  draw  down  the  corners  of 
their  mouths,  and  look  at  me  over  the  tops  of  their  spec- 
tacles ;  and  young  ladies  glance  over  their  shoulders,  avert 
their  eyes,  and  whisper  together  when  I  come  among 
them." 

"Bo  you  have  no  friends,  Gertrude,  besides  baring  BO 
relations  7" 

"  Oh,  bleu  you,  yes    these  people  are  not 


832  THl     MOTHER-IN     LAW. 

only  they  do  not  know  how  to  lake  me,  yon  tee ;  and  for 
friends,  I  have  one  very  dear  friend — little  Zoo,  who  broiig 
your  partridges ;  only  I  don't  intend  to  let  Brutus  marry 
her;  and  there  is  Britannia,  who  does  ine  justice.  Ah,  by 
the  way,  you  said  you  knew  Britannia ;  how  did  you  know 
kerf" 

"She  is  my  cousin." 

"She  your  cousin  !  Ah,  now  that  you  tell  me,  I  declare 
I  see  a  resemblance.  Your  hair  and  eyes  are  bluish,  black, 
like  hers — only  that  her  cheeks  and  lips  are  of  rich  carna- 
tion, and  yours  are  so  pale — oh,  so  very  pale,"  said  Gertrude, 
her  eyes  softening,  as  she  laid  her  hand  upon  the  pallid  fore- 
head of  the  youth,  "  so  pale.  Oh,  how  could  i  have  been 
•uch  a  bear  as  to  growl  at  you,  my  poor  boy  !  Ah,  well,  you 
came  down  here  to  see  Brighty  as  your  cousin  ?" 

"Yes,  dear  nurse." 

"Won't  you  tell  me  something  about  yourself,  now?" 

"  Yes,  dear  Gertrude,  and  more  than  you  expect  to  hear, 
perhaps  : — 

"Gertrude,  in  the  neighborhood  where  I  was  born  and 
brought  up,  in  Ireland,  there  are  hundreds  of  miserable  men 
and  women  living  in  mud  huts,  on  lumps  of  hard  ground, 
spattered  about  (so  to  speak)  through  a  vast  morass.  This 
great  marsh  is  all  that  is  left  of  the  once  valuable  estate  of 
Clonraachnois.  The  Earl  of  Clonmachnois  died  last  winter 
in  extreme  poverty,  leaving  nothing  but  the  marsh,  the 
ruined  house,  and  the  empty  title  to  his  heirs.  The  sole 
heiress  of  this  swamp,  ruin,  and  coronet,  is  my  cousin,  Bri- 
tannia O'Riley.  Before  the  death  of  the  old  Earl,  I  used 
to  walk  about  the  margin  of  that  vast  bog,  and  saying  to 
myself — '  Here  are  hundreds  of  men,  women,  and  children, 
•tarving  in  idleness ;  here  are  hundreds  of  acres  of  ground, 
producing  nothing  bnt  malignant  fevers ;  if  these  acrei 
were  drained  they  could  be  made  to  support  thia  population ; 
there  ii  work  to  be  done,  and  people  starving  for  the 


THE     GERFALCON.  883 

of  work  ;  it  only  needs  capital  to  adjust  the  one  want  to 
he  other.'  I  was  wealthy  ;  I  would  gladly  have  purchased 
this  bog  from  the  old  Earl,  and  with  my  own  means,  have 
set  the  peasantry  to  work,  and  drained  it  or  filled  it  up. 
That  would  have  given  the  starving  people  present  work 
and  wages,  and  opened  a  fair  prospect  in  the  future  to  all 
concerned. 

"  Unfortunately  for  my  project,  the  old  Earl  refused  to 
part  with  any  more  of  his  acres.  When  he  died,  I  wevii 
immediately  to  London — saw  a  relative  who  was  in  tho 
cabinet — related  to  him  all  my  plans  and  wishes  for  my 
native  parish,  and  received  from  him  the  suggestion  of 
seeking  out  and  marrying  the  heiress,  and  then  applying 
for  the  reversion  of  the  title,  which  would  give  me  a  seat  in 
the  House  of  Peers,  and  so  greatly  facilitate  my  dearest 
projects  for  Ireland.  At  first,  Gertrude,  I  revolted  at  the 
idea  of  looking  up  an  heiress  for  the  sake  of  marrying  her ; 
but  after  much  thought,  I  decided  that,  as  my  heart  was 
really  free,  as  the  happiness  of  hundreds  defended  upon 
my  getting  possession  of  that  marsh,  that  I  would  seek  out 
the  young  heiress;  and,  if  I  should  love  her,  and  be  so 
happy  as  to  win  her  love,  that  I  would  offer  her  my  hand 
and  fortune.  Having  gained  a  clue  to  the  young  lady's 
residence,  I  obtained,  through  ray  relative,  an  appointment 
as  attache  to  the  present  embassy  ;  came  out,  and,  through 
an  advertisement,  discovered  the  abode  of  my  cousin,  and 
came  and  found  her  sufficiently  beautiful,  elegant,  and  ac- 
complished, to  grace  the  highest  circles,  and  found  her, 
only  to  see  her  marry  another." 

Gertrude  had  been  silent  all  this  time  At  last,  sighing 
lastly  like  a  rising  gale,  she  asked — 

"And  did  you — did  you — did  you  fall  in  love  with 
Brighty?" 

"Why  no,"  smiled  the  youth,  "not  precisely.  I  had 
tome  aerial  castles,  it  u  true,  but,"— thett,  sighing 


SS4  THK     MOTHJCR-IN-LJLW. 

deeply,  said,  "  it  is  a  serious  disappointment  to  me— tht 
downfall  of  my  hopes  for  Ireland." 

Gertrude  re-echoed  his  sigh.     Gertrude  was  puzzled  also. 
She  could  not  reconcile  the  delicate  features  and  complex- 
ion, the  almost  infantile  clearness  of  brow,  with  the  manl 
discourse  of  her  patient.     SLe  did  not  call  him  "  my  boy 
again,  and  she  did  not  caress  him  after  that.     At  last 
Yentnred  to  say, 

"  I  wodner  how  old  you  are  ?" 

The  young  man  smiled  again,  as  he  looked  gently  at  her, 
and  replied, 

"  I  am  twenty -two  1" 

"  Twenty-two  !  No,  you  can't  be.  Louis  Stuart-Gor- 
don is  only  eighteen,  and  he  looks  much  older  than  you  do." 

"  That  is  because  he  is  an  American,  and  I  am  an  Irish- 
man. Even  children's  faces  dry  and  wrinkle  in  your  dry 
climate,  while  men  and  women  retain  an  infantile  freshness 
and  softness  of  complexion  long  past  middle  age,  in  the 
climate  of  England  and  Ireland." 

"  Your  countenance  is  very  fair  and  clear,  and  oh  I  yon 
have  one  beautiful  place  on  your  face." 

"Where,  Gertrude?" 

"  Oh  1  just  between  your  eyebrows,  so  open,  so  clear  so 
benignant ;  it  reminds  one  of  celestial  arches,  of  rainbowi, 
and  of  angels." 

The  furious  yelling  of  the  dogs  started  Gertrude  to  her 
feet.  She  ran  to  the  window. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  them,  Gertrude  1" 

"It  is  the  bailiff,"  she  exclaimed,  her  color  rising,  her 
eyes  sparkling,  as  she  fastened  from  the  room.  "  It  U  thi 
bailiff  Now  FOB  IT.  GLO*T  1" 


CHAPTER  XXTIII. 

THE    T*0    ATTAOHMKNTi. 

Wonldrt  be*rd  the  lion  In  hit  lair— 
Th«  tlgrww  la  her  denT— Scott. 

"WmcN  0  srtrude  reached  the  hall,  she  found  Zoe  standing 
midway  its  length,  with  the  two  bloodhounds  crouched  at 
her  feet.  She  had  just  called  them  off  the  bailiff,  who  waa 
now  standing  just  within  the  door,  his  hat  in  his  hand. 
Without  deigning  to  notice  him,  Gertrude  walked  straight 
up  to  the  standing  rack,  and  taking  her  riding-whip  down, 
began  to  crack  it  for  pastime,  just  as  a  lady  would  open 
and  shut  her  fan,  or  a  dandy  would  twiddle  his  cane  for 
amusement.  The  bailiff  bowed — hemmed  loudly  twice  or 
thrice  to  attract  her  attention,  but  Gertrude  went  on  fling- 
ing out  the  lash  of  her  whip  and  bringing  it  up  with  a  loud 
report,  while  her  fine,  transparent  nostrils  expanded  and 
quivered  with  spirit. 

"  Beg  your  pardon,  mum  !  but  you  are  Miss  Lion,  I  pre- 
lurae  f  " 

11  Sir,  you  are  very  presuming  1"  exclaimed  Gertrude,  with 
•tartling,  supercilious  surprise,  and  glancing  at  the  intruder 
from  head  to  foot.  Apparently  used  to  rebuffs,  the  bailiff 
proceeded,  without  embarrassment,  to  say — 

u  You  harbor  a  girl  here  who  goes  by  the  name  of  Zoe." 
"  I  harbor  a  fellow  here  whose  name  I  do  not  know." 
"Excuse  me,  mam !  my  name  is  Jones." 
"  And  a  very  pretty  name  it  is,  too — isn't  it  Zoe  ?" 
"Ah,  Zoe  I    That  is  the  girl,  is  it  ?     Well,  Miss  Lion, 
I  lure  an  attachment  for  this  girl." 

*  IncU>«d,  hare  yoa,  til  ?     ReftUy,  how  condescending  M 

(06) 


S36  THE     MOTHEtt-IN-LAW. 

yonr  part  I  how  flattering  to  her !  Do  you  hear,  Zoe  f 
This  gentleman  declares  that  he  has  an  attachment  for  yon. 
What  do  you  say  to  it,  Zoe  ?  Can  you  bid  him  hope  ?  He 
is  a  nice-looking  young  man  enough — a  trifle  bandy-legged 
and  club-footed ;  a  trifle  round-shouldered,  and  a  wee-bit 
cross-eyed  ;  not  fair  to  look  upon  in  particular,  and  rather 
hard-favored  in  general  ;  still,  no  doubt,  he  has  an  excellent 
heart — at  least  his  attachment  does  him  credit !  What  do 
you  say  to  him,  Zoe  ?"  Unable  to  comprehend  this  scene, 
Zoe  gazed  from  one  to  the  other,  in  distressing  embarrass- 
ment. "  You  see,  Mr.  Jones,  Zoe  and  myself  proper1.] 
appreciate  the  honor  you  have  done  us,  while  we  gratefallj 
decline  your  attachment.  I  am  afraid,  indeed,  that  in  Zoe'i 
case  there  is  a  prior  attachment ;  we,  therefore,  decline 
yours,  with  many  thanks,  and  with  a  high  appreciation  of 
its  value.  We  think  it  does  honor  to  your  intellect  and 
affections  1"  said  Gertrude,  with  scathing  irony.  The  bailiff 
was  confused.  Making  an  effort  to  recover  himself,  he 
said— 

"Miss  Lion,  you  cannot  affect  to  misunderstand  that  I 
come  at  the  suit  of  Cassinoe  &  Co.,  clothiers,  Peakville." 

"  Oh-h-h !  sure  enough ;  he  don't  speak  for  himself. 
Modest  soul  1  He  presses  another  man's  suit ;  he  is  not 
courting  on  his  own  hook.  He  is  not  Cupid  himself — only 
Cupid's  messenger  I  It's  a  merchant-tailor  that  has  fallen 
in  love  with  you,  Zoe  I" 

"Miss  Lion,  I  say  that  I  have  an  attachment  for  thi? 
girl." 

"  Oh,  you  have.  Just  now  it  was  Cassinoe  &  Co. — now 
It's  you!  Poor  fellow,  love  has  turned  his  brain  ;  he  doesn't 
know  what  he  is  talking  abont.  Presently,  he  won't  know 
which  end  he  is  standing  on." 

"  Miss  Lion,  I  repeat  it,  I  have  an  attachment  for  thii 
girl,  and  shall  proceed  to  serve  it." 

"  I  think  you  won't,  sir    To  say  nothing  Df  ray  brothei'i 


THK     TWO     ATTACHMENTS.  337 

prior  attachment,  I  have  an  attachment  for  this  girl  that 
will  be  likelv  to  stand  in  your  way." 

"  Miss  Lion,  I  attach  Zoe  Wood  as  the  property  of  Misi 
Susan  Somerville,  and  at  the  suit  of  Cassinoe  &  Co.,  cloth- 
iers, Peakville » 

"  Oh,  you  do.  Well,  /  attach  Zoe  Dove  as  the  be- 
trothed of  my  brother,  at  the  suit  of  Brutus  Lion,  lover 
and  avenger !  and  we'll  see  whose  attachment  is  the 
stronger !"  exclaimed  Gertrude,  her  bosom  visibly  heav- 
ing— her  nostrils  quivering.  The  bailiff  walked  up  to  Zoe, 
and  touched  her  on  the  shoulder. 

"  HANDS  OFF  1"  shouted  Gertrude,  bringing  the  loaded 
end  of  her  riding-whip  down  upon  the  floor  with  the  force 
of  a  hammer  on  the  anvil,  the  walls  resounding  with  the 
report.  The  bailiff  involuntarily  started  back. 

"Come  here,  Zoe,"  said  Gertrude,  holding  out  her  arms 
for  the  child.  The  poor  girl — the  victim  of  a  vague  terror 
— fled  to  her  protector.  Gertrude,  with  flashing  eyes, 
raised  the  end  of  her  whip,  menacing  the  bailiff,  while  she 
encircled  the  waist  of  Zoe  by  one  arm,  and  laid  the  head 
of  Zoe  gently  on  her  own  broad,  soft  bosom. 

"  There,  there,  there,  there,  don't  ba  trifled,  Zoe ;  no. 
thing  shall  hurt  you,  Zoe.  I'll  horse-whip  the  fellow  within 
an  inch  of  his  life,  if  he  does  but  lay  his  hand  on  you  again, 
•o  I  will." 

"Miss  Lion,  are  you  aware  that  you  are  transgressing 
the  law  P. 

"  Mr.  Bailiff,  I  don't  care  a  fox's  brush  for  any  law  but 
the  ten  commandments. 

"Don't  you  know  thht  in  harboring  a  slave  you  expos* 
yourself  to " 

"  Mr.  Jones,  your  way  home  lies  straight  out  behind  you. 
I  give  you  two  minutes'  grace ;  and  if  at  the  end  of  that 
time  you  are  not  out  of  this  hall,  I'll  put  you  out  I"  ex- 
claimed Gertrude-,  her  bosom  heaving  Mke  the  ocean 


888  THK     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

in  a  tempest,  her  lips  quivering,  her  nostrils  distended,  hef 
eyes  flashing,  sparkling,  and  scintillating,  as  though  they 
would  explode. 

"  Miss  Lion,  do  you  know,  are  you  aware,  that  you  are 
threatening  an  officer  of  the  law  ?" 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha,  ha  I — ha,  ha,  ha  1  Yes,  and  if  an  '  officer 
of  the  law'  don't  take  himself  out  of  my  sight  in  double 
quick  time,  I'll  take  an  '  officer  of  the  law '  by  the  nape  of 
his  neck  and  the  straps  of  his  pantaloons,  and  throw  an 
'officer  of  the  law'  over  the  precipice.  You  know  me,  sir. 
lam  Gertrude  Lion!" 

"  I  know,  and  the  county  knows,  Miss  Lion,  that  you 
are  one  who  sets  at  defiance  all  the  laws  of  delicacy  proper 
to  your  sex." 

"  Hear  the  fellow,  Zoe.  Arn't  you  ashamed  of  being  a 
woman,  Zoe,  when  every  '  critter '  who  sticks  his  spindle- 
shanks  into  a  pair  of  ragged  pants,  thinks  himself  invested 
with  the  robes  of  a  judge,  and  entitled  to  pronounce 
upon  what  is  delicate  and  proper  for  the  sex.  Whewl 
what  a  famous  thing  it  must  be  to  be  a  man  !  One  might 
be  a  great  empress,  a  great  actress,  a  great  poetess.  But 
what's  all  that  to  being  a  little  '  man  1'  But  this  par  paren- 
thesis. I  waste  time.  Come  1  Your  two  minutes  are  up, 
lir.  To  the  right  about — -forward — march  /"  commanded 
Gertrude. 

Deep  thunder  seemed  to  reverberate  around  the  feet  of 
the  Amazon.  It  w,a  the  low  growls  of  her  two  bloodhounds, 
that  crouched  on  either  side  of  their  mistress.  They  lay 
with  their  fore  paws  extended,  their  large  heads  laid  upon 
them,  their  great  red  eyes  glowing  like  balls  of  fire.  They 
heard  the  altercation,  and  instinctively  longed  to  spring  at 
the  throat  of  the  intruder.  Gertrude  looked  down,  and  no- 
ticed them  for  the  first  time.  She  smiled,  laughed,  crowed, 
shouted  with  delight  as  she  looked  at  them.  Then  turning 
to  the  bailiff,  she  said—"  See  here,  Mr.  '  Officer  of  UM  law,' 


TMB     TWO     ATTACHMENTS.  118 

I  am  going  to  count  ten — just  ten — and  please  the  patient 
Lord  I  if  you  don't  get  out  of  here  before  I  get  to  ten,  it 
will  go  very  badly  with  you ;  for,  as  soon  as  I  get  to  ten,  I 
•hall  say,  '  Seize  him,  Thunder  I  Seize  him,  Lightning!'" 

Before  she  had  said  another  word,  mistaking  her  threat 
for  a  command,  the  bloodhounds  made  a  spring  at  the  bai- 
liff, who  turned  and  fled,  they  pursuing  him,  they  gaining 
OB  him  down  the  hill. 

"Good  Heaven  I  he'll  be  torn  to  pieces  !"  exclaimed  Zoe, 
in  terror,  while  Gertrude  fled  out  to  recall  the  dogs.  In 
ten  minutes  she  returned  followed  by  them. 

"And  now,"  she  said,  "my  dear  Zoe,  you  must  be  put 
in  a  place  of  safety.  I  can't  whip  six  men,  and  there  is  no 
doubl  that  six  or  eight  will  return  here  this  afternoon.  I 
did  not  believe  it — I  mean  the  worst  of  it.  No,  I  did  not 
dream  it  could  be  true,  else  I  would  have  had  you  safe  from 
this  fright  before  this  time!" 

"  Bat,  dear  Gertrude,  what  is  it,  then  ?  Can  they  take 
me  up  for  father's  debts  ?" 

"  My  dear  Zoe,  my  dear  little  one,  it  is  all  a  mistake. 
Have  confidence  in  me,  and  rest  easy  until  Brutus  returns, 
and  then  all  will  be  well.  Zoe,  promise  to  obey  me  in  all 
things  until  Brutus  comes,  will  you  ?" 

"But  my  father!" 

"  My  dear  Zoe,  the  hand  of  extreme  age  has  fallen  on 
your  father's  head,  calming  his  brain  to  infantile  repose. 
Do  not  disturb  him,  and  he  will  not  interfere  with  you," 

"  Well,  I  will  promise  you,  Gertrude." 

"  Then,  Zoe,  go  now,  and  make  yourself  up  a  little  bundle 
•f  provisions,  to  last  one  day.  Pack  up  a  pillow  and  a 
•beet  into  as  small  a  compass  as  possible  ;  then  put  on  your 
bonnet,  and  come  down  here  while  I  go  and  catch  Borealis  \n 

Greatly  wondering,  Zoe  went  and  did  the  bidding  of  her 
protectress.  By  the  time  she  had  returned  to  the  hall,  G«r- 
trad*  had  saddled  Bc-ealis,  atd  denned  her  own  riding  oap 


140  1HE     MOTHER-IK-LAW. 

Mounting  her  horse,  and  taking  Zoe  before  her,  she  can- 
tered down  the  precipice,  through  the  valley,  up  the  ridge 
of  rocks  to  Mad  River  passage,  and  took  the  path  down 
the  same  frightful  gorge  that  had  witnessed  the  wreck  of  the 
wtrriage. 

"  Where  are  yon  taking  me,  Gertrude  ?" 

"  My  dear  child  to  a  place  of  safety.  Don't  ask  any 
more  questions — wait  till  Brutus  comes  home — have  faith  in 
me — I  am  the  most  disinterested  friend  you  have  in  the 
world,  except  your  poor  old  father,  who  cannot  help  you." 

Zoe  asked  no  more  quehtion  until  they  got  to  the  grotto. 
Gertrude  put  her  down,  dismounted  herself,  and  led  her  into 
the  cavern. 

"You  are  not  a  coward,  Zoe  ?" 

"Oh,  no." 

"  Not  afraid  to  stay  by  yourself  all  night  7" 

"  Oh,  no.  I  have  been  used  to  it  all  ray  life,  when  father 
would  stay  away  all  night  with  Major  Somerville." 

"Well,  this  is  a  safer  place,  under  all  circumstances,  than 
the  Dovecote.  It  is  safe  because  it  is  inaccessible — that  is 
to  every  body  but  me.  Zoe,  my  child,  you  must  stay  here 
for  a  few  days.  I  will  bring  you  clothes,  food,  fruit,  and 
books,  and  pictures  and  every  thing  to  amuse  your  solitude  ; 
and  I  will  come  two  or  three  times  to  see  yon.  And  you  need 
not  confine  yourself  to  this  cavern,  but  can  wander  at  will 
through  all  this  glen,  for  it  is  perfectly  safe  and  inaccessible," 

"Thank  you,  dear  Gertrude.  But  if  you  will  bring  me  up 
my  needle,  and  thimble,  and  scissors,  and  my  little  work-bas- 
ket, with  the  hexagon  quilt,  I  shall  not  be  lonesome.  And, 
Gertrude,  don't  forget  to  feed  my  Bantam  hens  withltdian- 
meal  dough — and  be  sure  you  don't  forget  to  tuck  father  op 
warm  when  he  goes  to  bed." 

"  I  will  remember  everything,  Zoe.  And  now  I  must  re 
torn  to  my  poor  patient,  who  is  alone,  you  know.  I  will  re- 


THE     TWO     ATTACHMENTS.  341 

turn  again  this  evening.     Qood-by,  Zoe  !"  she  said,  stop- 
ing  and  kissing  her. 

"  Good-by,  Gertrude !" 

"  God  bless  you,  child  I" 

"  And  you  too,  Gertrude  !" 

Aui  the  friends  parted. 

The  bailiff  returned  to  Pcaksville,  breathing  vengeance 
against  the  audacious  Amazon.  He  would  have  a  writ  out 
against  her.  He  would  have  her  arrested,  he  swore  in  hii 
wrath.  Somewhat  cool  and  exhausted  by  his  long  walk 
back,  however,  and  upon  cooler  reflection,  he  decided  not 
to  take  any  further  notice  of  the  matter,  feeling  very  doubt- 
ful of  its  final  issae,  and  having  a  shrewd  suspicion  that  he 
would  not  figure  to  much  advantage  in  the  business — added 
to  which  was  the  knowledge  that  Brutus  Lion  was  not  a 
man  to  be  enraged  with  impunity,  he  contented  himself 
with  the  design  of  returning  the  next  day  to  The  Lair,  with  a 
posse  comilatus,  to  take  the  girl. 

On  the  next  day,  as  Gertrude  was  waiting  on  her  patient, 
the  sound  of  many  feet  was  heard  in  the  hall  below,  accom- 
panied by  the  furious  barking  and  yelping  of  dogs,  and  rat- 
tling of  blows. 

"It  is  a  descent,  or  rather  an  ascent,  of  the  Goths  and 
Vandals,"  exclaimed  Gertrude,  laughing ;  "  however,  I  am 
ready  for  them,"  and  she  marched  below.  The  hall  was  half 
full  of  men.  The  two  dogs  were  kept  at  bay. 

"  Ha,  ha  ! — ha,  ha,  ha  I  Really,  gentlemen,  there  is 
strength  in  numbers,"  shouted  Gertrude  as  she  bounced  into 
the  midst  of  the  room,,  flung  her  torrent  of  hair  behind  her, 
and  let  fly  her  blazing  eyes  over  the  circle. 

"  Ha,  ha !— ba,  ha,  ha !  Try  to  keep  each  other  in  heart — do 
ru>w ;  for  I  do  not  know  what  I  should  do  with  seven  fainting 
men.  Oh,  don't  be  alarmed ;  I  won't  tread  on  you  !  I  am  al- 
ways careful  when  I  walk  among  ants.  See,  there  are  seven  of 
you  1  Seven  men  come  to  take  one  little  girl  out  of  tka 
21 


842  THl     MOTHBB-IV.LJLW. 

of  one  big  girl  I  Lord-'a-mercy  I  dear  me,  what  heroiiml 
Seven  of  you.  You  remind  me  of  the  Seven  Champions  of 
Christendom.  You're  an  honor  to  your  native  country. 
Seven  of  you !  seven  heroes  !  Lord,  if  Brutus  had  been 
home,  you'd  have  come  seven  hundred.  Seven  hundred  he- 
roes I  What  a  gallant  army  1" 

"  Miss  Lion,"  said  the  deputy  sheriff,  advancing  from  the 
group,  "  we  have  come  to  search  the  house  for  a  girl  by  the 
name  of  Zoe,  and,  with  your  leave,  we  will  proceed." 

"And  pray,  sir,  who  are  you  ?" 

Her  scornful  eyes  crawled  over  him  from  head  to  foot 

"  I  aia  the  deputy  sheriff  of county." 

"  Oh  I  Mister  Deputy  Sheriff  of county,  I  am  so 

proud  to  make  your  acquaintance  !  Mister  Deputy  Sheriff 

of county,  I  am  a  hero- worshiper;  and  I  have,  thig 

morning,  for  the  first  time,  heard  of  your  heroic  exploits  at 
The  Crags.  How,  with  a  posse  at  your  back,  you  coura- 
geously made  an  onslaught  upon  three  feeble  women  and  a 
weak  old  man — how  manfully  you  terrified  the  two  women 
to  death,  and  how  valiantly  you  in  single  combat  knocked 
the  aged  man  down  I  how  you  bound  and  carried  him  off  iu 
triumph — in  company  with  his  wife.  Oh-h  wonderful  Mis- 
ter Deputy  Sheriff  of county,  my  poor  house  is  im- 
mortalized by  your  visit !  The  ground  you  tread  is  classic 
ground  !"  declaimed  Gertrude,  waving  her  hand  theatrically. 

Every  one  laughed.  The  brow  of  the  deputy  sheriff 
•liaison  ed. 

"  Miss  Lion,  your  pride  and  scorn  are  not  to  interrupt 
me  in  the  discharge  of  my  duty.  I  proceed  to  its  execution. 
Gentlemen,  follow  me." 

"  Mister  Deputy  Sheriff,  I  do  yon  homage  I"  exclaimed 
Gertrude,  grounding  her  riding-whip,  and  bending  her  head 
in  mockery. 

A  peal  of  laughter  br  ,ke  from  the  crowd.  The  deputy 
sheriff  rushed  out  in  a  rage.  Gertrude  sprang  to  her  feet, 
flboatiif  with  laughter. 


fMK    TWO     ATTAOHMI5TI  $4* 

The  icarch  was  made — unsuccessfully,  of  course  ;  and,  at 
fee  end  of  the  circuit  of  the  house,  the  whole  party  returned 
to  the  hall,  where  Gertrude  again  mercilessly  opened  upon 
them  her  battery  of  sarcasm. 

Just  as  they  were  preparing  to  depart,  horse's  feet  were 
heard  rapidly  approaching,  and  Brutus  Lion  was  seen  to 
throw  himself  from  his  saddle  and  stride  into  the  room. 

"  What's  all  this  ?  what  the  devil  is  all  this,  Gertrude  ?" 
he  exclaimed,  looking  around  him  in  astonishment  and  anger. 

"  Oh !  it  is  Mister  Deputy  Sheriff  and  his  myrmidons 
come  to  take  Zoe.  It  takes  seven  of  them  to  do  it,  you 
gee  !  and  they  have  not  succeeded." 

"  Where  is  Zoe  ?"  exclaimed  the  giant,  trembling  in  his 
Pessian  boots. 

"  Ah  I  that's  what  Mr.  Deputy  Sheriff  would  be  glad  to 
find  out." 

"  Then  they  have  not  arrested  her." 

"  Arrested  her !  Pooh  !  am  /  not  her  keeper  ?  Had 
Susan  Somerville  been  me,  Mister  Deputy  Sheriff  would  not 
have  marched  off  with  flying  colors  from  The  Crags." 

"  Then  Zoe  is  safe,  Gertrude  ?" 

"Yes!     Zoe  is  safe." 

"Thank  God  I" 

"  Now,  Brutus,  don't  turn  a  Miss  Molly  on  my  hands. 
8'pose  she  hadn't  been  safe.  S'pose  she'd  been  in  danger. 
Could  not  you  have  rescued  her  ?" 

"Gertrude,  my  dear  sister,"  said  Brutus,  without  noticing 
her  epeech,  but  taking  a  packet  from  his  pocket,  "here, 
take  this  letter  up  to  your  patient — it  is  from  some  of  his 
friends  in  England — and  tell  him  I  will  wait  on  him  in  the 
coarse  of  the  evening." 

Gertrude  took  the  letter  and  ran  up  stairs. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Power,  I  will  speak  with  you  alone,  if  JOB 
please  I"  said  Brutus,  beckoning  the  deputy  sheriff  into  an- 
ether  i^om  "  At  whose  suit  have  you  attached  this  girl  ?" 


844  THE     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

"At  the  suit  of  Cassinoe  &  Co.,  clothiers,  Peakville." 

"  How  much  is  the  debt  ?" 

"One  hundred  and  seventy-fire  dollars." 

"  I  assume  it.  Come  with  me  to  Peakville,  where  tht 
business  can  be  legally  arranged  !"  and,  without  another 
word,  Brutus  Lion  remounted  his  horse,  and  rode  rapidly 
to  Peakville,  followed  by  the  posse,  most  of  whom  had 
come  to  the  Lair  rather  from  curiosity  than  necessity. 

In  an  hour,  Brutus  Lion  had  arranged  the  transfer  of  th« 
liabilities,  and  again  mounting  his  horse  he  galloped  fu- 
riously towards  The  Crags,  saying —  "  Now  to  purchase 
the  freedom  of  this  poor  girl,  before  another  writ  of  attach- 
ment at  the  suit  of  some  other  creditor  is  served  upon  her." 

He  reached  The  Crags,  threw  himself  from  his  horse,  and 
entered  the  sitting-room. 

What  a  scene  of  misery  met  his  eyes.  A  corpse  was  laid 
out  on  trestles  in  the  midst  of  the  room.  It  was  covered 
by  a  snow-white  sheet,  that,  clinging  closely  to  the  body, 
revealed  its  deathly  rigidity.  By  its  side  sat  one  solitary 
mourner,  clothed  in  black,  her  arms  extended  over  the  body, 
her  head  fallen  upon  her  arms,  in  an  attitude  and  expression 
of  hopeless  grief. 

Brotus  approached  reverently — 

"  Miss  Somerville." 

The  mourner  did  not  seem  to  heai. 

"  My  dear  Miss  Somerville." 

"  Oh  1"  moaned  Susan,  without  moving. 

"  My  dear  Miss  Somerville,  I  am  grieved,  deeply  grieved, 
to  see  you  sorrowing  thus." 

The  mourner  raised  her  head,  revealing  a  face  frightfully 
mvaged  by  grief. 

"Look  there  I  oh,  look  there!  She  is  dead — dead  I 
They  said  it  was  disease  of  the  heart ! — enlargement  of  th« 
heart  They  were  right.  Oh,  yes  1  they  were  right.  Her 
kMrt  fillffi  ud  filled  with  sorrow,  till  it  could  hold  uo  Bore, 


HIS     TWO     ATTACHM1N1S.  S45 

and  then  her  strong  heart  broke — it  broke!  Anna!  Anna!" 
and,  with  convulsive  but  tearless  sobs,  down  went  her  arms 
again  upon  the  form  of  the  dead. 

Tears  filled  the  eyes  of  Brutus  Lion.  At  any  other  time, 
and  under  any  other  circumstances,  he  would  have  left  the 
mourner  alone  with  her  dead  ;  but  now,  for  the  sake  of  the 
living,  he  was  forced  to  intrude  upon  this  sacred  sorrow. 
In  order  to  shorten  the  business  as  much  as  possible,  Brutus, 
before  leaving  Peakville,  had  taken  the  precaution  to  get  a 
bill  of  sale  drawn  up,  ready  for  signature,  and  to  draw  his 
money  from  the  bankers ;  so  that  what  he  now  had  to  do 
was  very  simple — to  make  Miss  Somerville  understand  that 
Zoe  was  her  property,  to  gain  her  consent  to  the  sale,  and 
her  signature  to  the  deed.  Again  he  reverently  addressed 
the  mourner — 

"  My  dear  Miss  Somerville,  I  am  very,  very  sorry  for  the 
cruel  necessity  that  compels  me  to  intrude  on  your  sacred 
grief,  but  the  welfare  of  a  fellow-creature  depends  upon  my 
gaining  your  attention.  Can  you  give  it  to  me  for  a  few 
minutes,  a  very  few  minutes  ?" 

Moans  only  answered  him. 

Brutus  laid  his  hand  upon  her  hand,  to  attract  her  attem- 
tion,  as  he  said  with  deep  earnestness — 

"  Miss  Somerville,  listen  to  me  1  The  vital  interest  of 
Zoe  Dove  hangs  upon  this  hour !  The  happiness  of  her 
whole  life  depends  upon  my  gaining  your  attention  for  a  few 
minutes.  Will  you  hear  me  ?" 

And,  taking  her  hand,  he  led  her  unresisting  to  the  seat 
at  the  window. 

Then,  sitting  down  by  her,  he  told  her  the  whole  story 
of  Zoe,  as  the  reader  knows  it.  He  told  her  in  a  very  few 
words.  Susan  heard  it  with  all  the  apathy  of  deep  sorrow. 
She  expressed  no  inrprise  ;  she  felt  none.  Her  deep  grief 
ghut  out  every  other  emotion.  Brutus  now  proposed  to 
purchase  Zoe.  He  lad  to  repeat  this  proposition  sem*! 


646  THE     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

times  before  Susan,  preoccupied  by  her  sorrows,  could  b« 
made  to  understand  and  receive  it.  Then,  speaking  slowly 
and  brokenly,  like  one  trying  to  break  the  spell  of  an  over- 
mastering thought,  she  said — 

"But  if  she  is  mine,  as  you  say,  I  will  free  her  at  once." 

"  But  my  dear  Miss  Soraerville,  that  will  not  do.  To 
emancipate  her  would  require  time  and  trouble.  In  the 
meanwhile,  another  writ  of  attachment,  at  the  suit  of  some 
other  creditor,  would  be  served  on  her,  and  your  benevolent 
designs  defeated.  What  I  propose  is  the  only  safe  «ay. 
It  is  very  easy.  Here  is  the  deed.  You  have  only  to  write 
your  name  at  the  bottom,  and  she  is  mine — she  is  safe. 
Come,  Miss  Somerville,  do  it,"  pleaded  Brutus,  putting  the 
pen  in  her  listless  fingers,  and  laying  the  deed  before  her. 

"Well,  well;  as  you  think  best." 

And,  scarcely  conscious  of  what  she  did,  Susan  Somer- 
rille  wrote  her  name  at  the  bottom  of  the  bill  of  sale,  and 
Zoe  became  the  property  of  Brutus  Lion. 

Susan  Somerville  tottered  back  to  her  seat  by  the  corpse, 
threw  her  arms  across  the  body,  dropped  her  head  on  them 
as  before,  in  the  abandonment  of  profound  sorrow. 

Brutus  Lion  sprang  into  his  saddle  and  galloped  towards 
The  Lair. 

That  evening,  Gertrude  hastened  to  the  grotto,  and 
brought  back  Zoe  in  triumph  to  The  Lair.  That  night, 
Brutus,  Gertrude,  and  Zoe,  were  grouped  around  the 
kitchen  fire. 

"  Now,  then,  dear  Gertrude,  remember  your  promise,  that 
as  soon  as  Brutus  should  return  you  would  explain  thii 
mistake" 

Gertrude  looked  at  Brutus  ;  and  Brutus,  taking  the  hand 
of  Zoe  in  his  own,  began — and  slowly,  cautiously,  tenderly, 
rtvealed  to  her  the  secret  of  hei  birth,  and  her  present  con« 
ditioii.  The  shadows  of  the  fire-light  danced  so  fitfully 


THE     TWa     ATTACH  MJBNT  8.  847 

upon  her  face  that  he  co;  Id  not  see  its  expression  while  h« 
•poke.  He  told  her  all— aft. 

At  the  conclusion  of  his  story,  Zoe  remained  silent,  with 
her  hands  clasped  upon  her  lap,  with  her  head  bowed  upon 
her  bosom.  At  last  broke  from  her  lips  in  passionate  grief 
these  words — 

"  Oh  1  my  parents  1  my  parents  !  what  misery  this  decep- 
tion has  made !  Oh !  that  I  had  never  been  born  I  My 
heart  is  breaking,  breaking.  Let  me  die,  let  me  die  now 
I  never  shall  look  up  again  ;  never ;  no,  never  1"  and,  over- 
come by  grief  and  shame,  she  a<tuk  upon  the  floor  and  rolled 
upon  her  face. 

Gertrude  and  Brutus  made  a  simultaneous  spring  to  lift 
her.  Brutus  caught  her  to  his  bosom,  laid  her  head  against 
his  chest,  laid  her  arm  up  over  his  shoulder,  and  soothed 
her.  This  kindness  touched  the  fountain  of  her  tears,  and 
she  wept,  long  and  freely.  This  weeping  relieved  her,  af 
weeping  always  does.  Her  grief  expended  itself  as  a  rain- 
cloud  in  showers.  It  is  only  quiet  grief  that  kills,  as  in  the 
case  of  Anna.  "  Reaction  equals  action."  At  last,  Zoe 
looked  up  clearly  through  her  tears,  and  said — 

"  At  least  it  is  you  who  have  bought  me  ;  is  it  not,  Bru- 
tus ?  Come,  it  is  not  so  bad  as  it  might  have  been.  There 
is  comfort  in  all  things,  and  at  least  I  am  to  live  with  you 
always,  dear  Brutus.  And  I  am  to  cook  you  nice  dishes 
that  you  like,  and  to  mend  your  clothes,  and  to  make  your 
house  comfortable,  and  to  make  you  happy  in  many  ways. 
Indeed,  it  is  not  so  bad,  after  all.  It  is  not  bad  at  all. 
After  all,  it  is  nothing  but  the  name ;  only  it  came  on  me 
like  a  shock  ;  and  I  was  a  little  proud  ;  that's  all.  I  shall 
not  be  sad.  People  will  say  that  the  schoolmaster's  adopted 
daughter,  who  used  to  be  so  proud  of  her  housekeeping,  is  • 
slave.  Well ;  I  shall  not  hear  them  say  it.  I  shall  bt 
here  with  Brutus;  waiting  on  Brutus  ;  and  I  shall  be  happy. 
Don't  grieve  for  me,  Brutus;  indeed,  I  am  not  ui  happy. 


848  THE     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

Do  yon  tnlnk  that  Zoe  considers  it  snch  a  misfortune  t«  be- 
long to  Brutus  ?  No,  indeed.  Corue !  don't  weep,  Bru- 
tus !  dear  Brutns !  I  hate  to  see  tears  in  manly  eyes ;" 
and  she  raised  her  apron  and  wiped  away  the  tears  from  the 
eyes  of  her  great  big  lubberly  nurse,  who  was  quivering 
with  emotion  like  a  mammoth  blanc  mange. 

"  Zoe,  my  child  I"  he  said,  "  did  you  think  I  would  hold 
yon  bound  a  moment  longer  than  I  could  help  ?  Zoe,  yon 
should  have  been  free  to-day,  but  that  the  court-house  was 
closed  before  I  had  even  completed  the  purchase.  Zoe, 
you  shall  be  free  to-morrow  ;  and  then  you  must  return  with 
your  adopted  father  to  the  Dovecote." 

"  Must  I  leave  you,  Brutus  ?" 

"  Zoe,  my  dear  child,  yes.  You  cannot  be  my  wife,  Zoe 
— and  I  will  not  make  you  my  mistress  ;  and  loving  you  as 
I  do,  Zoe — loving  me  as  you  do — that  would  be  your  fate 
if  yon  lived  with  me,  dear  child.  Take  her,  Gertrude  ;" 
and  pressing  one  passionate  kiss  upon  her  lips,  he  tossed 
her  in  his  sister's  arms,  and  bounded  from  the  room, 
bounced  into  his  chamber,  where  the  great  big  fellow  might 
have  been  seen  extended  on  his  bed,  sobbing,  blowing,  and 
floncdering  like  a  harpoc  aed  whale. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

MRS.  GENERAL  STUART-GORDON  AT  BOMB 

Oh,  sweetly  is  bedeck 'd  her  bower,  and  gorgeously  her  hall* ; 

Here  treads  the  foot  on  springing  buds,  and  there  on  yelvet  fall*. 

The  massy  tmrtain's  graceful  flow,  the  vase,  the  painting  warm, 

Those  household  echoes,  mirrors  bright,  revealing  the  fair  form  ; 

Exotics  that  perfume  the  air  with  odors  sweet  and  strange, 

And  shells  that  far  in  foreign  climes  mid  ocean  wonders  range, 

With  countless  gifts  of  taste  and  art,  In  classic  beauty  rife, 

Are  laid  upon  her  homestead  snrine,  and  grace  her  daily  life.— (7.  Gumm* 

IT  was  autumn  before  the  Stuart-Gordons  returned  to 
The  Isle  of  Rays.  It  was  impossible  to  tell  which  were  the 
prouder — General  Stuart^Gordon  of  his  brilliant  young 
bride,  or  Britannia  of  her  grand  old  husband.  She  gloried 
in  him  ;  there  is  no  error  upon  this  subject — it  is  the  truth. 
And  he  delighted  in  her ;  brightening  and  gladdening  in 
her  presence — that  is  another  truth.  And  The  Isle  of  Rays 
itself  flashed,  sparkled,  and  scintillated  more  splendidly  thaa 
ever,  when  illuminated  by  the  presence  of  Britannia.  Ai 
for  Louise,  you  know  she  was  a  ninny,  and  as  for  Louis,  he 
was  a  pale  face  ;  the  Island  Palace  was  quite  thrown  away 
upon  them.  They  might  wander  among  the  groves  and 
arbors,  with  music  and  poetry,  and  such  nonsense,  all 
day,  but  the  halls  and  saloons  of  the  Island  Palace  were 
alone  fitted  for  our  grand  General  Stuart-Gordon  and  our 
brilliant  Britannia.  Mrs.  Armstrong  might  say  as  she 
pleased,  but  her  downy-hearted  little  Louise  never  could 
have  "  done"  the  Island  Palace.  For  my  part,  I  think 
each  pair  was  well  bestowed,  and  I  sympathize  with  Brighty 
and  the  General — don't  you  ?  Mrs.  General  Stuart-Gor- 
6«a  cane  home  in  state,  and  astonished  the  neighborhood 


160  fHB     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

with  many  innovations.  A- new  and  splendid  carriage  WM 
set  up — five  Arabian  horses  purchased — servants  put  in 
livery — three  white  domestics  engaged,  namely,  a  Parisian 
girl  as  lady's  maid,  an  English  matron  as  housekeeper,  and 
a  French  cook. 

What  was  the  harm  of  it  ?  It  was  not  extravagance. 
General  Stuart-Gordon  could  well  afford  twice  the  expendi- 
ture. It  made  everybody  happy,  (except  Mrs.  Armstrong,) 
it  gave  people  employment,  and  circulated  idle  money.  At 
for  the  darkies,  they  were  delighted  with  their  new  liveries 
as  ever  raw  recruits  with  new  uniform,  or  baby  boys  with 
their  first  breeches. 

The  day  succeeding  the  arrival,  the  two  ladies  were 
seated  together  in  the  luxurious  boudoir  of  Britannia. 

"  In  truth,  my  dear  Louise,  you  could  have  done  nothing 
with  this  establishment  without  me.  You  would  never 
have  thought  of  any  improvements.  You  would  have 
received  no  suggestions  from  the  gentlemen  of  the  family. 
Men  are  apathetic  in  domestic  matters — never  think  of  re- 
fining their  own  comforts,  while  yet  they  keenly  relish  these 
comforts  when  quietly  falling  in  their  daily  life.  I  admire 
keen  and  delicate  senses,  as  an  evidence  of  perfect  physical 
development ;  but  I  do  not  like  to  see  a  lofty  mind  always 
debased  in  the  service  of  these  senses.  I  would  not  have 
the  General  thinking  always  of  his  dinner,  his  lounge,  and 
his  chibouque,  though  it  gives  me  pleasure  to  see  that  he 
enjoys  them,  when,  in  the  slipping  off  of  the  hours,  they 
properly  succeed  physical  or  intellectual  exertion." 

Louise  was  pale,  dispirited,  disinclined  to  converse  at  all, 
still  less  to  cavil  at  anything  Britannia  might  say  or  do. 

"  You  are  so  pensive,  Louise — and  you  always  are,  even 
by  the  side  o:  Louis.  By  thr  way,  where  is  the  y)ang 
gentleman  thii  morning  ?" 

"  Gone  over  to  The  Crags  to  see  Misa  Somerville.     Ht 


MBS.     8TU ABT-GORDON     AT     H  O  M  1.      S51 

leemed  very  anxious  to  meet  her,  and  so  be  left  me  immedi- 
ately after  breakfast." 

"  I  wish  he  would  not  go  there,"  said  Britannia ;  then, 
immediately  repenting  her  hasty  speech,  she  paused  abruptly. 

Louise  looked  at  her  with  a  slightly  querulous  expression 
upon  her  pretty  features,  and  asked — 

"  Why,  Britannia? — why  do  you  wish  Louis  would  not 
go  there  ?" 

"My  love,  it  is  time  to  dress;  some  one  will  be  calling 
here  to-day  ;  ring  for  Fleurine." 

"  But,  Brighty,  why  do  you  wish  Louis  would  not  call  at 
The  Crags  ?"  persisted  Louise,  glancing  keenly,  but  fur- 
tively, at  Britannia's  face. 

Mrs.  Stuart-Gordon  turned  her  eyes  full  upon  the  face 
of  Louise,  and,  looking  at  her  steadily,  replied,  slowly  and 
gravely — 

"Because  Susan  Somerville  is  a  grief-stricken  woman, 
and  the  visit  of  a  gay  young  bridegroom  may  be  unwelcome, 
as  unsuitable." 

Louise  dropped  her  eyes  beneath  the  steady  rebuking 
gaze,  and  sighed. 

"Now,  Mrs.  Louis,  will  you  please  to  dress  for  dinner?" 

"  Oh,  Britannia,  I  will  dress ;  bnt  I  want  to  see  my 
mother  so  much." 

11  The  carriage  is  at  your  command,  Mrs.  Louis." 

"  Oh,  Britannia,  I  cannot  go  alone.  The  General  might 
not  like  it — Louis  might  not — " 

"  I  hope  there  is  not  a  negro  on  this  plantation  as  great 
a  slave  as  you  are,  Mrs.  Louis.  Why  should  they  dislike 
it  ?  Why  should  they  stop  you  if  they  did  ?  You  pay  a 
poor  compliment  to  General  and  Mr.  Stuart- Gordon.  If 
they  disliked  any  act  of  yours,  Louise,  believe  me,  neither 
would  think  of  imposing  a  eingle  restraint  upon  yonr 
actions ;  and,  indeed,  I  should  very  much  dislike  to  ide 
them  make  the  attempt.  Poor  little  thing,  you  hare  bees 


S52  THE     MOTHEB-IN-LAW. 

confined  and  fettered  so  long,  that  yon  hare  lost  the  use  of 
yourself.  You  ARE  FREE.  Can  I  not  electrify  you  witfc 
the  fact  into  some  life  ?  Pray  use  your  freedom  a  little. 
King  and  order  your  carriage  at  your  own  house  ;  and  go 
— try  it,  to  see  how  it  will  feel,  Heavens,  child  I  are  you 
all  torpor  f " 

"  Yes ;  why  don't  you  SWAGGER,  Louise  ?  make  a  big  fust 
—sail  about  the  house — order  the  servants — order  the 
horses — order  the  master  himself — make  every  body  stand 
around  you,  or  pitch  over  each  other,  in  their  haste  to  do 
your  bidding !  Oh  !  you'd  see  how  Pd  do  it !  How  do 
you  do,  Brighty  ?"  exclaimed  the  Gerfalcon,  who  had 
•wooped  suddenly  down  into  this  soft  cushat's  nest. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Miss  Lion  ?  I  am  pleased  to  receive 
you." 

"Dear  Gertrude,  what  a  surprise  I  We  did  not  hear  you 
come  up." 

"  How  could  you  hear  me  run  up  on  these  soft  woolly 
carpets?  Lord,  I  wouldn't  live  in  this  house  for  two 
General  Stuart-Gordons.  I  couldn't  make  noise  here ;  if 
one  shouted,  the  sound  would  be  smothered  in  satin  and 
down.  What  a  place  1" 

"  Sit  down,  Gertrude." 

"  Can't.  Don't  like  the  looks  of  the  house ;  besides,  I 
was  just  going  over  to  The  Crags  to  see  poor,  dear  Susan, 
and  I  thought  I  would  not  pass  you.  I  thought  I  would 
just  run  up,  and  see  you,  Mrs.  Staart-Gordon." 

"  You  put  quite  a  surprise  upon  us,"  said  Britannia. 

"  A  shock,  why  don't  you  say  ?  I  'spose  I  ought  to  have 
rang.  Lord,  I  never  had  patietce  to  wait  until  a  servant 
came  to  open  the  door,  and  a  lady  came  down.  I  never 
indulged  Mrs.  Armstrong — even  her  High-loftineas — {i 
•uch  notions.  Oh,  have  you  seen  your  mother,  Louise  ?" 

"  Ok,  BO,  dear  Gertrude  ;  I  have  not  even  heard 


•  MB.    STUART-GORDON    AT    HOMS.     801 

Mr  for  four  months.     Just  to  think  of  ;hat.     How  is  ahe, 
Gertrude  ?     Can  you  tell  me  ?" 

"  Mrs.  Armstrong  keeps  very  close  house — sees  no  on* 
but  the  minister  and  the  doctor — " 

"  The  doctor  !     Is  my  mother  in  bad  health  ?' 
"Well,  no;  I  do  not  think  so  ;  but  having  nothing  elM 
to  amuse  herself  with,  she  thinks  of  nothing  but  herself—- 
her own  body,  and  her  own  soul — which  is  the  reason  I 
suppose." 

"  Oh,  Brighty,  you  hear.     My  mother  in  bad  health." 
"  I  do  not  believe  it,"  said  Mrs.  Stuart-Gordon. 
"  Well,  good  by,  good  by !     I  must  go,  I  must  go,  I 
should  smother  in  sweets  here. 

"  '  Some  lore  to  roam  o'er  the  wide  sea  foam, 

Where  the  shrill  winds  whistle  free, 

Bat  a  chosen  band  in  a  mountain  land, 

And  a  home  in  the  woods  for  me!'  " 

And  singing  and  shouting,  she  ran  and  bounded  down 
stairs  and  out  of  the  house. 

"  Oh,  Brighty,  do  you  mark  that  ?  My  mother  in  bad 
health." 

"  I  do  not  believe  so,  Louise.  Her  minister  and  physician 
Tisit  to  amuse  her,  while  they  eat  her  dinners." 

"  Oh,  Brighty,  this  family  estrangement  is  killing  to  me ; 
it  is,  indeed  it  is.  Four  months  I  have  not  heard  from  my 
mother.  I,  her  only  child,  who  never  left  her  an  hour 
during  sixteen  years.  Oh,  Brighty,  go  with  me  to  see 
ler." 

"  My  dear  Louise,  I  will  attend  you,  if  positively  neces 
sary,  but  my  opinion  is  that  you  had  better  go  alone.  My 
Tisit  might  not  be  acceptable." 

"But,  oh  I  Brighty,  do  go.  Surely  you  owe  that  muck 
to  my  mother." 

"  I  sent  her  our  cards  yesterday ;  she  therefore  knows  that 
we  art  at  home." 


St4  THE     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

"That  was  a  proud  thing  in  you  to  do,  Brightj." 

"I  was  dealing  with  a  proud  woman." 

"  It  would  have  been  more  friendly  to  have  driven  or* 
to  Mont  Crystal  this  morning." 

"Mrs.  Armstrong  should  call  here." 

"  Oh,  Britannia,  Britannia  1  do  not  cherish  pride  in  view 
of  all  God's  bountiful  blessings  to  you.  Go  with  me  to 
Mont  Crystal.  Make  the  first  advance  yourself;  yon  are 
the  younger.  This  quarrel  must  be  reconciled.  It  must — 
it  must.  It  kills  me.  Oh,  Britannia !  I  am  not  strong ;  I 
suffer  so  much  ;  I  eat  nothing,  scarcely ;  I  sleep  but  little, 
and  I  am  growing  so  feeble.  I  am  sinking  under  it,  Bri- 
tannia. I  shall  die.  Look  how  thin  I  am."  And  the  poor 
child  turned  up  her  muslin  sleeves,  and  held  up  the  two 
slimmest  little  white  wrists  that  ever  were  seen. 

"  Poor  little  arms  1  poor,  dear  little  arms  1"  said  Brighty, 
taking  them  and  kissing  them.  Come  sit  in  my  lap,  LOUISA 
I  want  to  pet  you  1"  and  she  held  out  her  arms.  Louise 
dropped  into  them,  sobbing.  "  Louis  loves  you  so  much, 
my  dear.  You  ought  to  be  happy." 

"  Ah  !  how  can  I  while  this  estrangement  lasts  ?  Oh  I  I 
feel  a  sense  of  guilt,  of  treachery  even,  in  the  comfort  I  re- 
ceive from  Louis's  affection." 

"  Sweet  Providence !  was  there  ever  such  a  perverted 
head.  You  have  been  taught  from  your  earliest  infancy  up, 
as  a  religion,  to  worship  your  mother,  only  her,  and  have 
been  misled  in  respect  to  all  your  other  womanly  duties. 
But,  poor  thing,  I  will  not  distress  you.  I  will  go  with 
you."  And  touching  the  bell,  "  Send  Mrs.  Louis's  maid  to 
her  dressing-room,"  she  said  to  the  servant  who  obeyed  the 
•nmmons.  The  man  bowed  and  withdrew.  Now,  love,  go 
make  your  toilet." 

Britannia  proceeded  to  make  hers.  In  truth,  Britannia 
herself  desired  the  reconciliation  of  the  families.  A  house 
divided  against  itself  cannot  stand.  Britannia  knew  that  th« 


MBS.    STUARTGORDON     AT    HOME.    S55 

horses  of  Mont  Crystal  and  of  The  Isle  of  Rays  were  all- 
powerful  united ;  that,  divided,  they  parted  the  influenc* 
over  the  neighborhood.  Besides,  Britannia  saw  that  Gene- 
ral Stuart-Gordon,  whom  she  adored,  was  himself  uneasy  at 
this  estrangement,  and  she  wished  to  see  him  comfortable 
In  addition  to  this  Brighty  rather  admired  Mrs.  Armstrong 
In  some  respects — rather  sympathized  with  her  pride,  and 
cherished  rather  pleasant  recollections  of  her  late  home  at 
Mont  Crystal.  The  reader  must  have  observed  one  pecu- 
liarity of  Brighty — namely,  the  propensity  to  look  on  th« 
bright  side  of  every  event,  and  the  fair  side  of  every  charac- 
ter ;  thus,  though  she  perceived  the  darker  traits  of  Mrs. 
Armstrong's  character,  she  never  dwelt  upon  them  in  her 
heart ;  and  though  she  had  experienced  some  disagreeable 
things  at  Mont  Crystal,  she  only  brought  away  with  her  its 
pleasant  memories.  This  was  no  happy  system  of  philoso- 
phy with  Brighty  ;  it  was  simply  her  happy  nature.  And 
then  Britannia  sympathized  with  Louise's  sorrow,  and  with 
Louis,  as  suffering  with  Louise.  Lastly,  Brighty,  like  her 
old  General,  was  too  cordial-hearted  not  to  like  family, 
peace  and  good-fellowship.  But  as  there  is  a  leaven  of  un- 
righteousness in  most  human  motives,  so  Brighty  took  a 
little  wicked,  womanish  pleasure  in  going  in  state  to  make 
a  visit  of  ceremony  at  the  house  from  which  she  bad  been 
so  summarily  discharged  fire  months  before.  Britannia  made 
a  grand  toilet.  Brighty  became  a  rich  and  tastefui  costume 
perfectly.  Her  appearance  was  decidedly  distinguished. 
There  was  an  ait  or  high-bred  refinement  in  the  expression 
of  her  elegantly-chiseled  profile  in  repose,  and  seen  beyond 
the  edge  of  her  white  French  hat  and  drooping  plumes. 
Never  were  satins,  velvets,  plumes,  and  cygnet  down,  Setter 
bestowed  than  upon  Britannia.  Taking  a  little  card-cast 
o»  wrought  gold  in  her  hand,  Brighty  descended  tbe  stairs, 
where  she  was  soon  joined  by  Louise. 
Tkejwtered  %  carriage,  and  were  d^ym  to  Mont  Oryt- 


ftntt  THE     MOTHKB-IN-LAW. 

tal.  Hopes,  fears,  and  anxieties  in  regard  to  her  reception 
torturing  the  heart  of  Lonise — a  little  genial  desire  for  fam- 
ily amity,  a  little  feminine  exultation,  agitating  the  bosom 
of  Brighty,  as  the  carriage  crossed  the  bridge  between  the 
Wand  and  the  shore,  and  wound  up  the  hill,  bringing  them 
in  sight  of  the  splendid  front  of  Mont  Crystal.  The  car* 
riage  drew  up  before  the  massive  iron-bound  green  gate  al- 
ways kept  closed.  The  porter  opened  it,  and  the  carriage 
drove  up  the  broad  avenue,  flanked  on  each  side  by  a  row 
of  locust-trees,  and  stopped  before  the  door.  A  footman 
alighted  from  behind,  and  opened  the  door.  The  heart  of 
Louise  paused  in  its  beatings — she  could  scarcely  sit — she 
grew  pale.  Britannia  gave  her  footman  her  card — MRS 
GENERAL  STUART- GORDON. 

"  Take  this  to  Mrs.  Armstrong." 

The  man  bowed  his  head  and  waited  to  receive  that  of 
Mrs.  Louis. 

"  Tell  mother  I'm  here,  and  dying  to  see  her,"  faltered  the 
half-fainting  Louise. 

The  footman  went  up  the  broad  marble  steps,  rung,  sent 
in  the  card.  Brighty  watched  him  from  the  carriage.  She 
snailnrl  to  herself,  her  cheeks  flushed,  her  eyes  danced. 

"  Oh  I  she  will  not  receive  us,  I  know  perfectly  well, 
BOW,"  said  Brighty. 

Brighty  was  mistaken.  "  Mrs.  Armstrong's  compliments, 
and  she  feeh  grateful  for  Mrs.  General  Stuart-Gordon's  call, 
and  begs  that  she  will  alight." 

Brighty'ft  heart  smote  her  for  pride,  vanity,  and  injustice, 
in  an  instant. 

"  What  word  did  mother  send  to  me — what  to  me  f " 
aiked  Louise,  nervously. 

The  footman  bowed — "  Nothing  more,  madam." 

"  Oh,  Britannia  1  she  is  angry  with  me  I  why  U  fh»  a&jry 


MB*.    «?UARX-aO£DON    A 1    MOXB.     857 

'  3£j  r^rs,  mere  is  some  mistake ;  your  message  wai  cot 
delivered.  There  is  some  mistake — alight." 

They  descended  from  the  carriage,  and  walked  up  tht 
stain,  Louise  clinging,  half-fainting,  to  the  arm  of  Britannia. 
They  were  shown  into  the  west  saloon — the  crimson  draw- 
ing-room ;  and  going  down  its  whole  length,  they  seated 
themselves  upon  the  crimson  satin  sofa  in  the  recess  of  the  baj 
window.  The  eyes  of  Brighty  sparkled  as  she  remembered 
that  jnst  six  months  before,  seated  on  that  very  sofa,  her 
eyes  had  filled  with  tears  at  receiving  offers  of  hospitality 
from  two  poor  girls,  who  pitied  her  poverty,  and  homeless 
and  friendless  condition.  What  a  splendid  contrast  to  that 
was  her  present  condition.  For  Louise — she  thought  of  the 
day  when  she  sat  upon  that  sofa  a  happy  bride — happy  in 
the  love  of  her  mother  and  her  husband — happy  in  the  fath- 
erly affection  of  General  Stuart-Gordon,  and  in  the  friend- 
ship of  Britannia  and  her  young  companions.  Who  could 
have  foreseen  the  blight  that  fell  upon  her  joy.  The  door 
opened,  and  Mrs.  Armstrong  sailed  in. 

She  always  sailed — her  stately  form,  ample  robes,  aud 
slow  gliding  step,  forcibly  suggested  the  idea  of  a  frigate 
under  full  sail.  Louise  arose  to  meet  her,  but  growing  very 
weak,  she  sank  again  into  her  seat.  Mrs.  Armstrong  ap- 
proached, and  offering  her  hand  to  Britannia,  who  rose  re- 
spectfully to  receive  her,  she  said — 

"  I  am  happy  to  see  yon,  Mrs.  Stuart-Gordon.  Permit 
me  to  offer  you  my  best  wishes  for  your  happiness  in  yonr 
new  position." 

Britannia  curtsied,  sat  down,  and  said — "I  hope  you 
have  been  well  since  I  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  lad* 
Mrs.  Armstrong." 

Quito  well,  I  am  much  obliged  to  700.  Tour  appear- 
ance saves  me  the  necessity  of  inquiring  after  your  haalth, 
and  leaves  me  only  the  pleasure  of  congratulating  JOB  npoa 
fthtutywt"  Then  turning  to  Lomiw,  the  arid— 


858  THE     MOTHEB-IN-LAW. 

"My  daughter!" 

"  My  dear  mother  I" 

They  embraced — Louise  sobbed 

"  I  cannot  say  the  same  for  Mrs.  Louis — she  does  not 
look  well,"  said  Mrs.  Armstrong,  sitting  down  in  her  eaay 
ehair. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  admit  that  Mrs.  Louis  does  not  enjoy 
good  health.  I  have  no  doubt,  however,  that  meeting  with 
you,  madam,  will  restore  her." 

Mrs.  Armstrong  looked  at  her  daughter  again,  and  with 
more  scrutiny.  She  was  more  than  ever  impressed  with  th« 
fearful  change  in  Louise's  appearance. 

"  Come  here,  my  daughter.  Mrs.  Stuart-Gordon,  will 
you  excuse  us  ?  You  will  find  some  admirable  prints  on 
yonder  table.  I  would  have  an  interview  with  my  daughter." 

"  Oh,  certainly,  certainly,  Mrs.  Armstrong.  I  am  no 
•tranger  at  Mont  Crystal." 

Mrs.  Armstrong  left  the  room  with  her  daughter.  They 
went  up  stairs,  into  her  chamber. 

"  Well,  my  child,  you  are  looking  around  upon  this  room, 
— what  emotion  does  the  view  awaken  in  your  bosom  ?" 

"  Oh,  mother !  mother  !"  exclaimed  Louise,  throwing  her- 
self upon  the  bosom  of  her  mother. 

They  sat  down  upon  a  lounge. 

"You  are  looking  very  thin  and  pale,  Louise  ?" 

"Oh,  mother  I  I  have  suffered  so  much." 

"  Is  Louis  kind  to  yon  ?" 

"  Oh,  mother  I  good  as  Heaven  to  me." 

"  And  General  Stuart-Gordon  f " 

"  Pets  me  like  a  pet  kitten,  mamma." 

"And  Mrs.  Siiart-Gordon  ?" 

"  Treats  me  better  than  she  treats  herself.  Nursw  ra#  M 
though  I  were  her  baby,  mamma." 

"  Too  are  very  happy,  then  ?" 


MB  8.    STUART-GORDON    AT     DOME,     669 

"Why  not?" 

"  Oh,  mamma  !  this  estrangement  1" 

"  It  is  very  serious,  then,  on  their  part.  They  apeak  of 
Bie  with  great  aversion." 

"  Oh,  no  1  dearest  mamma  !  there  is  no  member  of  the 
family  who  does  not  deplore  it,  I  am  sure ;  who  would  not 
do  anything  to  heal  the  breach." 

"  You  are  looking  very  pale,  Louise,  but  perhaps  there 
is  a  natural  cause  for  this,"  said  the  dowager,  taking  her 
hand,  and  looking  in  her  face. 

"Ma'am?" 

Mrs.  Armstrong  put  a  question. 

"  Oh,  no  !  mamma  !  no  I  no  I"  replied  Louise,  blushing 
like  a  peony.  "  No  !  no  ;  mamma  !  nothing  of  the  sort  1 
It  was  the  parting  with  you,  mamma,  without  taking  leave 
of  you.  It  was  the  not  hearing  from  you  for  so  long, 
mamma.  And  you  are  looking  haggard,  mamma;  you  have 
been  sick." 

"I  have  been  sick  at  heart,  Louise." 

"  My  dear  mother  I" 

"  I  have  been  alone,  Louise." 

"  Oh,  my  dear  mother,  if  you  knew  how  glad  I  should 
have  been  to  have  had  you  with  us,  or  to  have  been  with 
you  I" 

"  But,  Louise,  are  you  quite  sure  of  what  you  tell  me  ?" 

"  Oh,  very  sure,  dear  mamma.  Please  don't  ask  me," 
pleaded  Louise,  crimsoning  with  confusion. 

"  We  will  rejoin  Mrs.  Stuart-Gordon  new.  That  waa  all 
I  wished  to  ascertain,"  said  the  dowager,  with  a  diabolical 
•mile,  which  was  happily  lost  upon  her  daughter. 

"And,  mamma,  this  misunderstanding  shall  be  recon- 
ciled, shall  it  not  ?» 

"  Yes,  my  daughter,  as  far  as  it  lies  in  my  power." 

11  Oh,  thank  you,  dear,  dear  mamma  I  Now,  now  I  ih%L 
be  happy  again." 


160  TMl     MOTHIR-IN-L1.W. 

They  went  down-stairs,  and  entered  the  crimson  drawing- 
room.  Britannia  was  standing  at  the  table,  looking  orer 
some  prints.  She  tamed  smilingly  to  meet  the  mother 
and  daughter.  She  saw  nothing  in  Mrs.  Armstrong's  face, 
always  cold  and  impassible  ;  bat  she  saw  in  Louise'i  radiant 
•yes  that  peace  was  about  to  be  proclaimed. 

"Mrs.  Stuart-Gordon,  hare  you  any  engagement  for  to- 
morrow ?" 

"  None,  madam.  Mrs.  Louis  and  myself  are  perfectly  at 
jronr  disposal  to-morrow." 

"Then  I  will  waive  ceremony,  and  dine  at  The  Isle  of 
Bays  to-morrow." 

Britannia  curtsied  low,  in  acknowledgment  of  thii 
grace  Louise  caught  her  mother's  hand  and  raised  it  to 
her  lips. 

"  We  shall  be  most  happy  to  receive  yon,  madam,"  said 
Britannia. 

"  Oh,  mamma,  Louis  and  the  General  will  be  so  over- 
joyed  1" 

Soon  alter,  the  ladies  took  their  leave. 

"  A  proud,  presuming  huzzy  1"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Arm- 
itrong,  as  the  carriage  rolled  away.  "  llow  dare  she, 
after  ejecting  my  daughter  from  her  full  position  in  that 
family — how  dare  she  come  here,  with  her  carriage  and 
liyeried  servants,  to  insult  me,  and  triumph  over  me  !  My 
ex-governesa !  I  hate  her — hate  her !  She  blasts  my  sight  I 
I  wish  she  were  dead  1  I  cannot  bring  about  her  death, 
bnt — I  will  see  if  she  does  not  tramp  from  The  Isle 
of  Rays.  I  think  I  have  the  lever  by  which  to  move  her. 
Yea,  my  lady  Britannia,  yon  shall  tramp.  We  want  BO 
•eoond  brood  of  children  growing  up  on  The  Isle  of 
Rays." 

Th«  carriage  of  the  fitaart-Gordoni  returned  to  the  I«l« 
of  JUyi.  The  level  beams  of  the  setting  sun  were  glancing 
tbt  .aland,  as  Uw  carriage,  recroMfng  the  bridge, 


MBS.    ifUABT-GORDOH    AT    MOXK.     Ml 

irouad  on  tetween  rows  of  cool  shade- tree*  around  the  cir- 
cular road  that  led  up  to  the  front  entrance  of  the  Island 
Palace.  The  whole  front  of  crystal  windows  flashed  back 
in  streams  of  dazzling  light  the  very  last  rays  of  the  level 
•an,  as  the  carriage  paused  before  the  portals. 

General  Stuart-Gordon  wua  standing,  smiling,  on  thfe 
Marble  steps,  waiting  to  receive  his  ladies.  He  advanced 
to  meet  them  as  they  alighted — 

"  Welcome  home,  ladies,"  he  said,  gladly,  as  he  opened 
his  arms,  and,  receiving  them  both  in  one  embrace,  pressed 
them  together  to  his  bosom.  "  You  are  radiating  beanty 
this  evening,  my  lady  Britannia  !"  he  exclaimed,  as  Brighty, 
just  permitting  him  to  touch  her  brow  with  his  lips,  sprung 
gayly  past  him  into  the  house.  "  And  you,  also,  my  little 
Louise,"  he  added,  detaining  her  in  her  intended  flight. 
"  One  would  say  that  something  highly  agreeable  had  hap- 
pened to  you." 

"  Oh  !  there  has — there  has  !  I  hare  seen  mother — dear 
mother  1  and  it  is  all  made  up,  and  she  is  coming  here  to- 
morrow. Are  you  not  glad  ?" 

"You  have  just  seen  'mother,'  little  darling.  Well, 
then,  come  and  kiss  father!" 

"  Oh,  I  will !  I  will !  I  will  give  you  the  kiss  mothei 
left  upon  my  lips  at  parting.  It  shall  be  a  peace-offering — 
a  love-offering ;  take  it  1"  and  Louise  clasped  her  arms 
around  his  neck,  and  pressed  her  lips  fervently  to  his. 

"  You  are  a  sweet  girl,  Louise." 

"  But,  oh !  did  you  hear  me  say  that  mother  was  coming 
here  to-morrow  ?" 

"  Yes,  love,  I  did  ;  and  she  shall  have  such  a  welcome  as 
shall  make  her  forget  everything  unpleasant  that  has  passed 
between  us  ;  and  now,  my  dear,  I  must  go  and  thank  Brighty 
for  having  taken  you  to  Mont  Crystal  so  soon." 

"  Has  Louis  returned  !" 

*  No,  darling,  not  ye*      Now  ran  and  yet  ready  for  dta 


S42  THE     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

fter,  or  we  shall  have  to  dine  by  candle-light.     Y«a,   we 
positively  shall  have  to  do  that,  any  how." 

Louise  hurried  off  to  he:  room.  Upon  her  dressing-table 
»he  found  a  note  from  Louis.  Opening  it  hastily,  she 
lead : — 

"DEAREST — Sudden  and  urgent  business  calls  me  te 
Peakville.  I  shall  not  be  able  to  return  to-night  L.w 

A  momentary  shade  of  vexation  passed,  as  a  light  cloud, 
over  the  visage  of  Louise,  and  vanisked.  Louise  wag  too 
happy  to  be  annoyed  by  trifles.  The  family  met  at  dinner. 
Louise  explained,  as  far  as  the  note  did,  the  absence  of 
Louis,  and  General  Stuart-Gordon  surmised  that  this  busi- 
ness was  in  connection  with  the  execution  at  Major  Somer- 
ville's,  and  then  he  proceeded  to  give  the  account  of  it  that 
he  had  heard  in  the  course  of  the  day. 

Early  the  next  morning,  Mrs.  Stuart-Gordon  summoned 
her  housekeeper,  and  gave  her  orders  for  the  dinner.  Lit- 
tle Louise  was  almost  as  happy  as  it  was  possible  to  be ; 
and  General  Stuart-Gordon  walked  about  leisurely  and 
smilingly — 

"  And  In  the  fullness  .  ,oy  and  hope 
Seemed  washing  his  hands  with  Invisible  soap, 
In  imperceptible  water." 

Nothing  was  wanting  to  complete  his  happiness  but  this 
family  reconciliation,  and  now  it  was  about  to  come  oflf 
When  three  o'clock  struck,  he  mounted  his  horse,  and,  at- 
tended by  Apollo  on  a  second,  rode  down  to  the  bridge,  to 
wait  for  and  welcome  Mrs.  Armstrong  there.  He  waited 
on  the  bridge,  amusing  himself  by  looking  at  the  reflection 
of  the  green  banks  and  graceful  trees  in  the  clear  water,  or 
in  looking  toward  Mont  Crystal  for  the  appearance  of  the 
carriage.  At  last  it  came  in  sight,  and  wound  slowly  down 
the  hill  General  S*"art-Gordon  rode  forward,  and,  whilt 


MBS.    STUABT-GOBDON     AT     H  O  M 1.     868 

Apollo  held  open  the  wide  gate  to  admit  the  carriage  whwi 
It  had  crossed  the  bridge,  the  General  advanced  to  the  car- 
riage door,  and,  bowing  to  his  very  stirrup,  said,  earnestly— 

"  Mrs.  Armstrong,  I  am  most  happy  to  see  you.  Permit 
me  to  attend  you  to  the  house,  where  the  ladies  await  youi 
coming  with  much  impatience." 

"I  thank  you,  sir,  and  welcome  you  back  to  our  neigh- 
borhood." 

Not  one  allusion,  even  by  apology,  was  made  to  the  past 
The  only  difference  was  an  elaborate  deference  of  mannei 
on  the  part  of  General  Stuart-Gordon,  and  a  stately  gra- 
ciousness  on  the  side  of  the  lady.  Sending  his  servant  on 
to  the  house  to  announce  madam's  arrival  on  The  Isle  of 
Rays,  the  courtly  General  himself  rode  at  the  lady's  carriage 
side,  opening  the  gates,  pulling  aside  the  boughs  thai 
crossed  the  road,  &c.  When  the  carriage  drew  up  befort 
the  mansion,  and  Mrs.  Armstrong  prepared  to  alight,  the 
General  threw  himself  from  his  horse,  opened  the  carriage 
door,  put  down  the  steps,  and,  after  assisting  the  lady  to 
descend,  drew  her  arm  within  his  own,  and  led  her  up  tb& 
stairs  to  the  piazza,  from  whence  Britannia  and  Louise  ad 
yanced  to  receive  her.  Then,  to  show  her  the  highest  pos 
sible  respect,  instead  of  ringing  for  a  servant,  Britannia 
conducted  Mrs.  Armstrong  to  a  dressing-room  herself,  per- 
formed the  part  of  femme  de  chambre,  by  assisting  the  lady 
to  lay  off  her  bonnet,  shawls,  tippets,  &c.  Louise  w«u 
there  also  with  sal  volatile,  cologne,  and  a  glass  of  wine  in 
case  her  mother  were  fatigued. 

The  whole  family  strove,  by  showing  Mrs.  Armstrong  th* 
highest  honor,  to  testify  their  appreciation  of  her  risit. 
Britannia,  entirely  disarmed  by  Mrs.  Armstrong's  seeming 
kindness,  and  reproaching  herself  for  the  pride  and  vanity  of 
her  display  on  the  day  before,  put  off  all  state,  sunk  for  the 
time  the  "  Mrs.  General  Stuart-Gordon,"  became  "  Brighty," 
Md  fare  her  personal  attendance  to  Mra.  Armstrong  with 


894  THi     MOTHER-IX-  LAW. 

a  deference  she  bad  never  shown  in  her  governessing  days, 
As  for  General  Stuart-Gordon,  he  was  so  enchanted  with 
Brighty's  goodness  as  to  fall  freshly  in  love  with  her  that 
day,  and  kissed  her  every  time  he  got  a  chance. 

If  Mrs.  Armstrong's  seeming  kindness  had  worked  Mch 
miracles  of  reform,  and  created  such  happiness,  what  cannot 
real  kindness  do  ?  Try  its  effect,  reader,  upon  your  worst 
enemy. 

But  Louis  had  not  come  home.  Where  was  Louis  ?  It 
wa§  four  o'clock,  and  the  family  were  all  in  the  drawing- 
room,  and  dinner  was  about  to  be  served  without  Louis. 
Louise  was  not  an  exacting  little  wife.  Her  affection  for 
Louis  was  too  moderate  and  too  disinterested  for  that ;  but 
she  was  getting  a  little  impatient  for  his  arrival — would 
kave  felt  a  little  lost  and  lonesome  but  for  the  presence  of 
her  mother.  They  dined  without  him. 

At  last,  late  in  the  evening,  Louis  Stuart-Gordon  ar- 
rived in  haste,  weary,  haggard,  dusty,  and  travel-stained. 
Without  presenting  himself  in  that  condition  in  the  draw- 
ing-room, he  hurried  at  once  to  his  own  apartment,  and 
•ent  for  Louise.  She  hastened  to  him. 

"  My  dearest  Louise,"  he  said,  coming  forward  and  em- 
bracing her,  "  how  happy  I  am  to  meet  you  again  after  a 
day's  absence." 

"  So  am  I  glad  to  see  you,  Louis — and  oh,  Louis,  mother 
feas  come." 

"  I  saw  her  carriage.     I  shall  be  very  happy  to  see  her." 

"Now,  dearest  Louis — or  rather,  I  mean,  you  naugbtj 
Iraant,  you  I — what  kept  yon  away  so  long  ?" 

"Ah,  Louise  1  a  sad,  sad  business.  Perhapi  you  heard 
•f  the  execution  at  Major  Somerrille's  7" 

"  Yet !  yes— well  ?» 

"  Well,  it  appeari  that  Satan  wrote  to  My  fetor  for  m 
4cUnee,  and  we  never  got  the  letter." 

-Oh!  what  a  pity." 


MBS.  STUART  GORDON  AT  HOXB.  365 

"And,  of  course,  knowing  nothing  about  the  execution, 
did  nothing  to  arreit  its  ill  effects,  and,  in  one  word,  Louise, 
when  I  called  on  Miss  Somerville  this  morning,  I  found  her 
•lone,  plunged  in  grief  at  the  expected  sale  of  her  foster- 
parents,  George  and  Harriet,  who  were  then  supposed  to 
be  in  the  slave-pen  at  Peakville.  The  sale  was  to  have 
come  off  to-day.  I  hurried  to  Peakville  at  once,  but 
arrived  too  late.  A  slave-trader  from  Alexandria  had 
already  purchased  them,  and  had  set  out  for  that  town  this 
very  morning.  So,  my  own  Louise,  I  went  back  to  Miss 
Somerville  with  this  news.  She  was  so  much  distressed, 
and  I  sympathized  with  her  so  keenly,  that  I  have  deter- 
mined to  set  out  for  Alexandria  to-morrow  morning,  hoping 
to  reach  that  city  before  the  poor  couple  are  shipped  to 
the  South." 

"  And  so  you  will  leave  me  again  so  soon,  Louis  ?'• 

"  Would  you  have  me  hesitate  a  moment,  Louise  ?" 

"  Ob,  no !  Poor  Susan  I  But  how  long  will  yon  be 
gone,  Louis  ?" 

"  A  week,  perhaps,  my  dear." 

"  Oh,  dear  me,  a  week  !  It  is  so  lonesome  here  without 
you,  Louis." 

During  this  little  talk,  Louis  Stuart-Gordon  had  been 
changing  his  dress.  His  toilet  being  now  complete,  they 
went  down  stairs  into  the  drawing-room.  Louis  Stuart- 
Gordon  advanced  to  Mrs.  Armstrong  and  welcomed  her 
with  an  easy  grace,  raising  her  hand  respectfully  to  hii 
lips  with  an  affectionate  gallantry,  as  if  nothing  had  aap- 
pened.  Then  turning,  he  explained  to  his  father  the  nature 
of  the  business  that  had  detained  him  from  home,  at  the 
same  time  announcing  his  intention  of  leaving  for  Alexan- 
dria the  next  morning. 

"  In  that  case,  my  dear  son-in-law,"  said  Mrs.  Armstrong, 
"I  shall  invite  your  wife  to  pass  the  days  of  your  absence  at 
Mont  Crystal,  Do  you  consent  to  this,  Loufc  1" 


S46  THE     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

"With  great  pleasure,  my  dear  madam,  if  Louise  will  b» 
pleased,  as  of  course  she  will,  to  avail  herself  of  your  kind 
invitation." 

44  What  do  you  say,  my  daughter  ?" 

"Oh,  I  shall  be  too  happy." 

Mrs.  Armstrong  remained  all  night  at  the  Isle  of  Rays. 
After  breakfast,  the  next  morning,  Louis  departed  for  Alex- 
andria, and  Louise  returned  to  Mont  Crystal  with  her  mo- 
ther, there  to  spend  the  week  of  her  husband's  absence. 


CHAPTER   XXX 

A  CHAMBER   SCENE 

A  light,  commodious  chamber 
Looking  out  to  the  hills  where  the  shine 
Of  the  great  sun  may  enter.— Mary  Howitt. 

THE  second  day  from  the  arrival  of  Louise  at  Mont 
Crystal  saw  the  carriage  of  Mrs.  Armstrong  drawn  up  be- 
fore the  Island  mansion.  General  Stuart-Gordon  advanced 
from  the  house,  and  came  down  the  steps  to  assist  the  lady 
to  alight 

"  I  am  overjoyed  to  see  you  again  so  soon,  my  dear  ma- 
dam, and  my  little  daughter-in-law  whom  we  have  missed  so 
much.  She  is  within  there,  of  course.  Mrs.  Stuart-Gor- 
don will  be  so  delighted  to  see  her — " 

"  My  daughter  has  not  accompanied  me,  sir.  I  cam* 
jnly  upon  a  matter  of  business,  to  which  I  crave  your  atten- 
tion for  a  few  moments,  sir." 

"  Certainly,  madam,"  said  the  General,  offering  his  arm 
to  the  lady,  with  certain  vague  misgivings.  "  Certainly, 
madam.  Apollo,  lead  the  way  into  the  library,  and  then  lei 
your  mistress  know  tha*  Mrs.  Armstrong  is  here," 


A     CHAMBER     S01VX.  16? 

"  Sir,  excuse  me.  I  shall  not  present  myself  to  you 
lad}  this  morning." 

"  Can  we  not  persuade  you  to  spend  the  day  vith  us,  ma- 
dam ?"  said  the  General,  in  his  blandest  tones. 

"  Once  more,  sir !  business  alone  brought  me  to  The  Isle 
of  Rays,"  replied  the  lady  in  a  freezing  tone.  Again  vague 
but  gloomy  presentiments  darkened  the  mind  of  the  General, 
»s  he  led  Mrs.  Armstrong  into  the  library  and  handed  her  a 
ehair.  She  seated  herself  with  cold  dignity.  General 
Btuart-Gordon  followed  her  example,  and  remained  waiting 
for  the  lady  to  speak. 

"  Be  so  good  as  to  send  your  man  from  the  room,"  said 
Mrs.  Armstrong. 

"Go,  Apollo,"  commanded  the  General;  and  Apolio 
rent.  "  Well,  Madam,  how  can  I  serve  you  ?"  asked 
General  Stuart-Gordon,  after  waiting  some  minutes  for  her 
to  begin. 

"  Sir.  who  is  the  heir  of  this  Island  Estate  ?" 

"  My  only  son  Louis,  of  course." 

"  Bv  what  right  does  Louis  inherit  this  property  F" 

"In  right  of  his  mother,  Margaret  Stuart-Gordon." 

"  Then  Louis  Stuart-Gordon  is  master  of  this  estate  and 
mansion-house  ?" 

"  Not  as  yet,  madam  !" 

"  Let  that  pass  for  the  present.  But,  when  I  bestowed 
the  hand  of  my  daughter,  Miss  Armstrong,  upon  your  son, 
Mr.  Stuart-Gordon,  it  was  understood  that  she  should  take 
the  head  of  this  establishment.  Was  this  so,  or  was  it 
not  so  ?" 

"  Certainly,  madam,  that  was  the  tacit  understanding, 
but—" 

"Never  mind  'but.'  This  house  was  refurnished,  fitted 
•p,  to  suit  the  taste  of  Louise,  was  it  not  ?" 

"  Of  course,  madam,  but — " 

"  Louise  was  tr  have  been  its  mistress — was  ski  not  I* 


t«8  THI     MOTH IB     IN     LAW. 

"  Certainly,  madam,  bat — " 

"  Who  is  its  mistress  1" 

"  My  wife,  Mrs.  Stuart-Gordon,  senior." 

"  Then  the  conditions  of  the  marriage  contract  hare  ic< 
been  fulfilled  on  your  part." 

"Thetmpfted  conditions,  I  grant  you,  madam,  bare  been, 
to  far,  infringed.  It  was  rather  assumed  than  stipulated, 
that  Mrs.  Louise  should  take  the  head  of  this  establish- 
ment— and  at  a  time,  too,  when  my  own  marriage  was  not 
in  contemplation." 

"  Sir,  I,  for  one,  make  no  allowances  for  after-thoughts." 

"  Mrs.  Armstrong,  pardon  me,  but  this  is  really  very  ex- 
traordinary on  your  part." 

"  General  Stuart-Gordon,  I  am  one  of  very  few  words ; 
and,  in  one  word,  my  business  here  to-day  is  to  remind  you 
of  the  conditions  upon  which  the  marriage  of  Louia 
Stuart-Gordon  with  Louise  Armstrong  was  contracted,  and 
to  request  your  fulfillment  of  your  part;  in  short,  to  ask 
you  to  give  up  possession  here  to  the  rightful  owners — your 
gon  and  his  wife." 

"Mrs.  Armstrong,  if  any  other  than  yourself  had 
made  so  strange  a  proposition,  I  should  ascribe  their  words 
to  a  disordered  intellect." 

"Do  I  undertand  yon  to  refuse  this,  sir  ?" 

"  Most  certainly,  madam ;  your  singular  proposition  is 
not  to  be  entertained  for  a  single  moment." 

"  Then  hear  me,  sir.  I  said  that  I  was  a  woman  of  few 
words ;  you  know  that  I  am  not  a  woman  of  vain  words ; 
and  I  tell  yon,"  she  said,  rising,  folding  her  arms,  standing 
before  him  with  her  determined  jaws  firmly  set,  her  determined 
•yes  firmly  fixed  upon  him — "  I  tell  yon,"  she  said,  slowly, 
through  her  closed  teeth,  "  that,  until  you  and  your  wife 
evacuate  these  premises,  Mrs.  Louis  Stuart-Gordon  never 
seta  foot  upon  The  Isle  of  Rays,  and  never  exchanges  one 
word  with  any  one  member  of  the  Island  family.  I  wa!t«4 


A     CHAMBER     301VB.  M9 

•7  time.  I  have  her.  She  is  in  my  hands  now!  and, 
taming  haughtily,  she  strode  from  the  room,  leaving  Gene- 
ral Stuart-Gordon  standing,  wonder-struck,  in  the  middle 
of  the  floor,  standing  stock  still,  and  staring  straight  ahead, 
until  a  pair  of  jeweled  hands  flashed  down  upon  his  breast, 
and  a  pair  of  sparkling  eyes  glanced  up  into  his.  Britannia 
was  standing  before  him. 

"Well,  what  is  it?  You  are  all  amazed.  What  is  th» 
matter  ?" 

"  Ruin  !  ruin  1  Brighty.  Do  you  see  that  woman  ?"  he 
said,  drawing  Britannia  after  him  to  the  front  window,  and 
pointing  to  where  Mrs.  Armstrong's  carriage  was  rolling 
away.  "  Do  you  see  that  woman  ?  '  She  is  the  infernal 
Ate  in  good  apparel.'  She  has  deceived  us  all ;  her  visit, 
her  pretended  reconciliation,  was  all  a  ruse,  to  get  Louise 
into  her  power  again.  I  would  give  ten  thousand  dollars 
to  have  Louise  once  more  within  the  walls  of  this  house. 
My  dear  Britannia,  if,  with  your  woman's  wit,  you  will 
only  conjure  Louise  back  again  to  this  room,  ask  me  for 
any  boon  that  moment,  and  it  is  yours." 

"  Nay  I  am  no  match  for  Mrs.  Armstrong — neither  da 
I  understand  one  word  of  all  this  quarrel,  from  first  to  last." 

"  Then,  Brighty,  I  suppose  that,  first  or  last,  you  must 
hear  it.  Mrs.  Armstrong  had  honored  me  with  her  pre- 
ference— was  highly  infuriated  at  my  marriage — and  now 
that  she  has  Louise  safe  under  her  own  thumb,  and  know- 
ing as  she  knows  her  absolute  power  over  Louise;  and 
knowing  as  she  does  that  Louis  is  too  fastidious  to  resort 
to  legal  measures  for  the  recovery  of  his  wife,  she  hai 
arowed  her  determination  that  Louise  shall  not  set  foot 
within  the  limits  of  The  Isle  of  Rays,  or  hold  any  inter- 
course  with  any  member  of  its  family,  until  we—you  and 
myself—  shall  have  evacuated  the  premises.  There  1  I  said 
to.  Tour  bright  eyes,  my  dear,  are  as  wide  open  with  as- 
toidshmmt  as  mine  were  when  you  cam*  in  and  foud  •*." 


170  THl     UOTHER-IN-LAW. 

Brightys  eyes  were  now  cast  down ;  she  seemed  buried 
in  deep  thought  for  a  few  minutes,  then  suddenly  breaking 
the  thread  of  her  reverie,  she  took  his  hand  and  said — 

"  Come  I  luncheon  is  served  in  the  oaken  parlor,"  and 
drew  him  out.  Over  that  luncheon  the  General  and  Brighty 
had  a  long  and  confidential  conversation. 

It  was  yet  early  in  the  morning  when  Mrs  Armstrong 
returned  to  Mont  Crystal.  Louise  sat  sewing  in  one  of  the 
large  front  chambers,  whose  lofty  windows  command  the 
river,  isle,  and  opposite  shore.  This  was  Mrs.  Armstrong'! 
summer  sleeping-room.  Every  summer  she  migrated  from 
the  thickly  carpeted  and  heavily  curtained  crimson  bedroom 
to  this  large  airy  chamber,  with  its  many  tall  windows,  its 
white  mantelpiece,  its  straw-matting  floor,  and  its  white 
iimity  curtains,  counterpanes,  and  toilet-covers.  This  was 
an  airy,  fragrant  chamber,  with  a  fine  prospect  from  itg 
windows.  Louise  shared  this  apartment  with  her  mother, 
and  now  she  sat  at  one  of  the  front  windows,  idling  with 
her  needle  and  thread,  while  her  heart  went  forth  gladly 
into  the  morning  glory  of  the  sunlight.  The  morning  air 
had  tinged  her  delicately  fair  cheek  with  the  faintest  rose 
tint,  a  little  deepened  as  it  budded  into  the  classic  lips. 
Louise  had  always  been  pretty,  but  there  was  the  germ  of 
an  exquisite  beauty  in  her  face,  that  could  only  be  developed 
by  a  happy  love.  She  was  still  pausing,  with  her  needle  in 
her  hand,  still  looking  forth  upon  the  glorious  landscape, 
when  her  mother  entered  from  her  drive.  Mrs.  Armstrong 
had  already  divested  herself  of  her  riding-dress,  and  now 
taking  out  her  knotting,  she  sat  down  near  Louise,  who 
took  her  hand  and  pressed  i*  reverently  to  her  lips,  still 
gazing  forth  upon  the  river,  as  hough  something  thert 
fascinated  her  glance. 

"You  seem  to  like  this  front  window,  my  daughter  1" 
"Ob  t  I  d?  dearest  mother  I    I  like  the  prospect  from  it 


A     CHAMBEE      SCKN1.  STl 

•o  much.  Look,  mother,  look  See  The  Isle  of  Raja, 
•hooting  streams  of  light — radiating  sunbeams  like  an  arch- 
angel's crown  !  Oh,  mother !  that  Isle,  with  its  sparkling 
'contains  and  flashing  waterfalls,  seems  to  me  as  a  glad, 
glad  spirit,  rejoicing  in  its  life  of  light,  and  for  ever  and  for 
ever  chanting  its  song  of  joy  to  its  Creator!  Oh!  I  love 
that  Isle  1  I  love  it  1  I  almost  pray  to  it,  as  to  some  guar- 
dian— and  when  I  am  there,  it  seems  to  me  as  if  the  vast 
and  radiant  wings  of  some  bright  angel  enveloped  me  1  and 
even  now  its  waters  seem  to  smile  at  me — its  trees  to  wave 
their  arras  to  me — it  attracts,  fascinates  me — wooes,  invites 
me.  Oh,  see  !  it  seems  to  nod  and  smile  at  me,  mother ; 
and  my  spirit  flutters  in  my  bosom,  and  plumes  its  wings, 
as  though  it  would  spread  them,  and,  cleaving  through  all 
this  sun-bright  air,  seek  the  bower  of  the  blessed  angel 
Islet—" 

"Ahem  I  poetry  is  very  well  in  its  place — that  is,  in  gilt- 
edged  books,  bound  up  between  embossed  covers,  and  laid 
upon  pier  and  centre  tables,  to  while  away  the  hours  of  idle 
morning  visitors  and  loungers ;  but  it  is  very  much  out  of 
place  here.  You  will  please  to  remember,  Mrs.  Stuart- 
Gordon,  that  sentimentality  is  decidedly  vulgar.  Your 
manners,  since  your  residence  at  The  Isle  of  Rays,  have 
deteriorated  lamentably.  You  have  lost  that  air  repoat, 
that  once  distinguished  yon — " 

"  But,  oh,  mother !  it  is  so  difficult  only  to  pace  when  one 
wishes  to  run — only  to  smile  when  one  wishes  to  laugh — 
to  speak  low  when  one  wishes  to  break  out  in  a  song 
Why  may  not  one  be  glad  and  gay  in  a  free  mountain 
scene  like  this,  mother  ?  Oh,  look,  mamma  1  the  fountain! 
on  the  Isle  flash  and  play  in  the  sunbeams  all  day  long  as 
they  please — and  the  cataracts  leap  into  the  bosom  of  the 
river,  making  glad  muax;  through  all  the  sunny  hoars — 
and  the  river  flows  on  in  light  with  its  silent  hymn  of  joy ; 
and  tin  forest  trees  wave  "h !  see  how  they  bead  and 


ITS  TIB     MOTHKB-IS-LAW. 

•od  ond  throw  up  waves  of  green  light  to  the 
offering  of  love  to  the  skies,  that  smile  back  in  lore  upoi 
them.  And  the  flowers,  mother !  Oh  I  stoop  a  moment 
from  the  window,  and  smile  at  them — if  an  open  flower  ex- 
presses anything  on  earth,  mother,  it  is  an  open  smile. 
And,  mother,  did  you  ever  notice  the  rose  leaning  its  cheeki 
•ideways,  caressingly,  upon  the  green  leaves  that  cluster 
tenderly  around  it?  Oh!  mother,  is  there  anything  in 
human  nature  that  expresses  beautiful  love  more  beautifully 
than  that  ?  Now,  mother,  when  I  look  out  upon  nature^ 
and  see  nothing  but  beauty,  love,  and  joy — and  when  my 
own  heart  leaps  in  my  bosom  to  join  the  grand  diapason  o? 
grateful  harmony — -why  must  its  expression  be  checked  and 
suppressed  ?  It  kills  me,  mother  I  it  kills  me  1" 

"  It  is  Louis  who  has  put  all  this  nonsense  into  your 
head.  You  must  never  heed  poets,  my  daughter.  They 
•re  all — to  use  an  expressive  Scotch  term — 'daft.'" 

"  Yes,  it  was  Louis  who  revealed  the  life,  the  soul  of 
nature  to  me — who  translated  the  language  of  nature  for 
me.  One  day  we  sat  on  a  bank  of  violets,  and  I  stooped 
to  pluck  one,  and  his  gentle  hand  dropped  softly  upon  mine, 
and  stayed  its  purpose.  '  Do  not  pluck  it,  Louise,'  he  said, 
'  but  look  at  it  I  see  how  full  of  expression  it  is  !'  And  I 
looked.  The  violet  had  nestled  itself  under  the  shelter  of 
its  green  leaves,  and  it  peeped  out  at  us  with  as  much  arch- 
ness of  expression  in  the  bend  of  its  head,  in  the  droop  of 
its  petals,  as  ever  you  saw  in  the  sidelong  glance  of  a  sky- 
bird,  with  its  head  bent  aside — or  the  speaking  eyes  of  % 
irild  kitten,  backing  itself  up  into  a  corner.  And  we  botli 
watched  the  violet,  as  it  seemed  to  watch  us,  and  we  would 
no  more  have  plucked  it  than  we  would  have  tortured  th« 
bird  or  the  kitten.  Louis  never  kills  a  bird  or  squirrel,  01 
anything  else,  or  even  pulls  a  flower.  He  lets  everything 
•lone— everything  live.  Everything  lives  to  Louii  I" 

"  Oh,  how  childish  and  puerile,  not  to  say  ridiculous,  all 


A     OHAMB1B     SC1JT1.  ITS 

ikil  it/  I  see  that  I  shall  hare  a  good  deal  of  trouble  ta 
reforming  and  perfecting  your  manners,  my  dear  Louise." 

"  No,  yon  will  not,  my  mother,"  said  Louise,  whoM 
gayety  had  been  gradually  subsiding.  "  No,  you  will  not, 
my  mother.  There  is  something  in  the  very  air  of  thil 
house  that  subdues  me — its  walls  have  the  cold  grandeur  of 
the  glaciers  ;  they  awe  and  chill  me.  It  is  only  when  look- 
ing forth  from  its  windows  upon  The  Isle  of  Rays,  that, 
remembering  my  life  there,  I  feel  glad  and  wild." 

"That  is  an  over-long  speech  for  an  epigram,  Mrs> 
Stuart-Gordon."  ,  ' 

"Dear  mother,  I  did  not  mean  that — excuse  me — forgive 
me,  I  did  not  know  what  I  was  saying." 

"Exactly,  Louise.  When  you  are  not  absurdly  gay,  you 
are  ridiculously  petulant.  Why  can  you  not  be  serene,  like 
Miss  Somerville  ?  Then,  perhaps,  you  would  stand  a  better 
chance  of  retaining  your  hold  upon  your  husband's  heart." 

"  Why,  mother — how  is  that  ?     What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  I  mean,  my  dear  child,  that  you  are  not  quite  so  much 
to  the  taste  of  Louis  as  your  friend,  Susan  Somerville,  is." 

"  Mother,  you  distress  me — so  much,"  said  Louise,  her 
features  growing  pale  and  sharp. 

"  My  poor  girl — my  dear  Louise,  there  is  but  one  disin- 
terested and  ever-enduring  l"ve  in  the  world,  and  that  is  the 
lore  of  a  mother." 

"  Well,  mother,  I  know  that.  You  hare  told  me  a  mil- 
lion of  times.  I  have  read  it  in  all  the  books  you  ever  pat 
in  my  hands.  I  have  even  written  it  in  copy-books.  I 
know  that.  Bat  still  I  do  think  Louis  loves  me  with  a 
'disinterested  and  ever-enduring  love,'  although  I  may  not 
be  so  worthy  of  him  as  Susan  Somerville  would  have  been. 
We  do  not  alioay*  l>ve  only  what  is  superior— we  some- 
times love  inferior  beings  for  their  very  need  of  as— so 
Louis,  so  Brighty,  so  the  General  loves  me." 

"Poor  child,  they  none  of  them  love  you— they  eajole, 
23 


174  THE     MOTHKR-IN-L^W. 

caress,  flatter  ihe  heiress  of  Mont  Crystal.  No  one  loref 
Louise,  but  her  mother — " 

"  Louis,  mother,  Louis  loves  me." 

"How  do  yon  know  that?" 

"Oh,  by  a  thousand  signs — by  every  look,  word,  tone, 
and  gesture — by  every  loving  act  of  his — by  every  happy 
emotion  of  mine." 

"  Ah  !  good.     Did  you  ever  see  a  play,  Louise  ?" 

"  Yes,  mother,  but  I  am  sick  at  heart.  I  do  not  wish  to 
talk  about  plays  or  other  indifferent  matters.  Mother, 
Louis—" 

"  Nonsense  !     What  was  the  play  you  saw,  Louise  ?" 

"  Romeo  and  Juliet." 

"There  could  not  be  a  better  play  for  the  illustration  Oi 
my  subject.  I  can  imagine  that  this  play  moved  the  sym 
pathies  of  your  unsophisticated  heart,  Louise.  Who  played 
Romeo  ?" 

"  George  Barrett,  mother." 

"  A  celebrated  tragedian,  to  judge  by  newspaper  criti 
cism.  Well,  the  passiou  was  well  counterfeited, — wat  it 
not?" 

"  Ma'am  ?" 

"  The  love,  the  tenderness,  the  pathos  was  well  played 
/—was  it  not  ?" 

"  To  the  life,  mother.  It  wrung  my  heart  like  a  real 
tragedy  enacting  before  me." 

"  Yet  you  know  it  was  acknowledged  acting  ?" 

"Certainly,  mother." 

"  Well,  my  dear  Mrs.  Stuart-Gordon,  there  is  more  act- 
ing, and  more  consummate  acting  off  the  stage  than  on  it. 
The  family  at  The  Isle  of  Rays  is  a  corps  of  consummate 
actors,  of  which  Louis  Stuart-Gordon  may  be  called  th« 
•tar.  They  love  you  n:t,  Louise.  There  is  not  one  of 
them  who  would  not  have  preferred  that  Louis  had  married 


1      CHAMBER     DCKNK.  876 

Somerville,  had  she  possessed  a  fortune  equal  to 
yoors." 

"  Oh,  mother,  mother,  what  makes  you  think  so  ?  Mo- 
ther, Louis  likes  me  ;  indeed,  Louis  does  like  me." 

"Yes,  he  likes  you  as  thj  Romeo  of  the  acted  drama 
liked  the  Juliet,  but  he  kves  Susan  Somerville." 

"  Oh,  mother  1  this  is  not  true  !  You  are  mistaken  ;  oh, 
you  must  be  mistaken;  this  cannot  be  true;"  and  Louise 
dropped  her  head  upon  her  hands  and  sobbed. 

"Recall,  if  you  please,  Louise,  the  agitation  and  illness 
of  Miss  Somerville  at  your  wedding — recollect  her  precipi 
tate  retreat  immediately  after  the  ceremony — " 

"  Oh,  yes  1  yes  1  I  remember  that ;  oh,  I  recollect  many 
things  that  then  I  could  not  account  for,  that  now  seem 
clear  enough  to  me.  Yes,  I  remember  now  that  many  of 
the  young  girls  bantered  Susan,  and  said  that  it  had  been 
generally  reported  that  she  and  Louis  were  to  have  been 
married." 

"  And  so  it  had  been  generally  reported,  and  Louis  had 
given  every  color  to  the  report  by  going  every  afternoon 
and  spending  the  whole  evening  at  The  Crags,  and,  when- 
ever her  grandfather  was  absent,  sending  for  Miss  Somer- 
rille  to  The  Isle  of  Rays.  In  a  word,  both  the  General 
and  Louis  admired  and  loved  Miss  Somerville,  and  Louis 
would  gladly  have  married  her,  and  the  General  would 
gladly  have  consented  to  the  marriage,  had  the  yonng  lady 
possessed  an  adequate  fortune ;  and  the  grievous  wrong  is, 
that  Louis,  after  selfishly  winning  the  affections  of  this  girl, 
has  cruelly  abandoned  her,  and  married  another  woman 
whom  he  cannot  equally  love." 

"  Yea,  he  does  love  me,  mother.  But  oh,  poor  Susan ! 
Ah,  yea  !  it  is  true, — to  j  true  1  I  feel  sure  of  it  when  I  re- 
call her  agitation,  her  change  of  color  whenever  Louia 
looked  at  or  apoke  to  her.  Then  her  fearful  lapse  of  spirits, 
her  rapid  ietUne  of  health  and  strength  in  the  dayg  that 


176  THX     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

followed  my  marriage;  and  I  remember  that  Brightj  al- 
ways sought  to  ward  off  observation  from  her." 

"  Yes  1  that  young  lady  was  in  the  secret !  She  was 
leagued  with  them,  and  against  us." 

"  Poor,  dear  Susan  !  But  oh,  mother !  why  did  you  not 
tell  me  all  this  before  it  was  too  late  ?" 

"  Because  I  have  only  recently  suspected  it  myself,  and, 
following  out  my  suspicions,  have  confirmed  them." 

"  Poor  Susan  !  how  could  Louis  have  been  so  thought 
less  1  for  whatever  of  wrong  has  been  done  or  suffered,  it 
has  been  from  thoughtlessness;  Louis  intended  no  wrong." 

"  ThougJitlessness !  His  actions  have  sprung  from  else 
than  thoughtlessness ;  his  course  has  been  calculated  with 
mathematical  exactitude.  Susan  Somerville  was  not  rich 
enough  to  be  his  wife,  but  she  is  poor  enough,  pretty 
enough,  and  loving  enough  to  be  his  mistress."  Louise 
suppressed  a  cry  of  horror  and  disgust  "  Certainly ;  so  he 
marries  the  unloved  heiress,  and  takes  the  loved  beggar 
nnder  his  protection." 

Louise  dropped  her  head  upon  her  mother's  ahoulder, 
and  groaned — 

"  Oh,  mother  1  what  horrors  are  these  you  are  revealing 
to  me !  My  brain  is  reeling,  reeling  !  my  mind  wanders. 
This  is  very  dreadful,  and  yet  it  is  of  Louis — Louis  that 
you  speak  !  Oh,  this  is  very  very  horrible,  and  yet  it  is  my 
mother  that  tells  me.  Yes,  yes  I  my  micd  wanders — loses 
itself.  All  support,  all  reliance  seems  falling  beneath  me  1 
I  am  lost — dying  1  Mother!  mother!"  and  Louise  lost 
her  roice,  and  grew  deadly  pale  and  faint.  Mrs.  Armstrong 
mpported  her  on  her  bosom,  while  she  bathed  her  temples 
with  Cologne. 

"  No,  not  all  support  is  lost  to  yon,  my  child.  Yonr 
mother  still  remains,  Louise." 

"  Oh,  my  mother !  but  this  that  yon  tell  me,  this  that  701 
UU  DM  I  It  is  too  horrible  to  b«  true  ;  bat  you,  you  fell  H 


A     UHAMBB1    101*1.  S7T 

to  me— you,  whose  word  is  troth  ;  and  to  doubt  your  word,, 
my  mother,  would  be  blasphemy." 

"  Do  not  sink  under  this,  Louise.  Your  mother  remains 
to  you,  my  child.  Yon  have  suffered  a  cruel,  cruel  wrong, 
but  do  not  die  under  it." 

"  Alas  1  Louis.  The  lost  angel  himself  was  not  mort 
beautiful,  more  treacherous  than  Louis.  Lay  me  down, 
mother;  I  am  weak  all  over;  I  cannot  sit  up.  Lay  ma 
down,  mother."  Mrs.  Armstrong  supported  her  to  one  of 
the  white  dimity-covered  settees,  laid  her  on  it,  sat  by  her, 
fanned  her,  bathed  her  forehead  with  Cologne,  and  talked 
to  her  in  a  soothing  and  subdued  tone.  Seeing  that,  even 
with  the  aid  of  these  efforts,  she  did  not  revive,  Mrs.  Arm- 
strong touched  the  bell  and  summoned  Kate  to  bring  a  cor- 
dial. When  Louise  swallowed  that,  a  little  faint  color 
came  back  into  her  cheeks,  and  she  looked  up.  Then  Mrs. 
Armstrong  said  to  her,  in  order  not  to  lose  an  inch  of 
ground — 

"  Do  you  know  that  I  have  been  to  the  Isle  of  Rays  thii 
morning,  my  daughter  ?" 

"No,  my  mother,  I  did  not." 

"  Yes,  my  child,  I  went  there  again  ;  I  went  there  to  hart 
justice  rendered  my  child." 

"  Justice !  Alas  1  mother,  if  Louis  does  not  love  me, 
and  loves  Susan  Somerville,  he  cannot  help  it ;  and  there  ii 
an  end.  Nothing  can  be  done,  and  nothing  remains  to  me 
but — to  die  /" 

"  My  poor  Louise,  like  a  heart-sick  child  as  yon  are ! 
that  is  not  the  justice  I  spoke  of.  You  know  that  you  were 
to  have  been  the  mistress  of  that  house,  Louise,  and  that 
you  are  not ;  that  your  former  governess  is  elevated  to  that 
dignity." 

"  She  is  welcome  to  it,  mother.  I  do  not  care  about  it. 
Oh  1  if  you  knew  how  little  I  care  for  such  distinction — how 
I  loTed  Brighty — how  willing  I  was  that  she  nhoald 


S78  THE     MOTH1B-IN-LAW. 

take  the  burden,  with  the  dignity,  off  my  shoulder*.     Akt 
BOW  I  care  for  nothing  1" 

"  Bat  I  care  for  you,  Louise ;  I,  your  mother,  feel  inter 
ested  in  your  welfare.  And  I  say,  Louise,  that  you  have 
been  cheated  out  of  your  affections  and  your  rank  both." 

"  For  the  latter  I  do  not  care.  Let  us  talk  no  longer  of 
the  former,  mother." 

"Let  me  conclude,  my  dear,  and  then  we  will  be  silent 
for  ever  upon  the  subject." 

"Yes.  Silence!  darkness!  quietude!  death!  that  ii 
what  I  want,  mother." 

"  Louise,  when  I  went  this  morning  to  The  Isle  of  Rays, 
I  was  met  with  refusal — defiance." 

"  Alas,  mother !" 

"  That  affected  reconciliation,  Louise,  was  all  a  piece  of 
wicked  hypocrisy.  As  soon  as  I  demanded  justice  for  my 
daughter,  I  was  met  with  insult  that  obliged  me  to  leave 
the  house." 

"  Oh,  mother  !  I  do  not  know  what  justice  we  want.  1 
want  peace.  My  very  heart  is  dying  in  my  bosom,  and  my 
mind  wanders — wanders — wanders !"  she  groaned  turning 
her  head  from  side  to  side,  uneasily. 

"Be  at  rest,  Louise.  Remain  with  your  mother,  who 
loves  you.  I  do  not  flatter  and  cajole  my  child,  it  is  true, 
for  my  affection  it  as  dignified  as  it  is  disinterested  and 
widuring." 

"  There  is  no  doubt  about  your  affection,  at  least,  my 
mother." 

"Then  you  will  content  yourself  to  remain  with  me, 
Louise  ?» 

"  Alas  I  where  else  should  I  go,  mother  ?  Back  to  *  neet 
of  — — ;  and  yet  I  do  love  thorn — Brighty,  the  General, 
and  dearest  Louis.  And  though  they  should  betray  me  a. 
thousand  times,  I  cannot  help  loving  them  still,  loving  then 


CHAPTER  XXil. 

"THE    THUNDERBOLT." 

I  part  with  the* 

At  wretches  that  are  doubtful  of  hereafter 
Part  with  their  lives— unwilling,  loath,  and  fearful— 
And  trembling  at  futurity.— .Row. 

Louis  STUART-GORDON  had  hurried  to  Alexandria  ai 
fast  as  his  horse  could  take  him  thither ;  had  reached  the 
city  in  season,  and  had  been  so  fortunate  as  to  repurchase, 
at  a  small  advance,  the  two  old  people.  Giving  them  a 
pass  and  money  to  bear  their  expenses,  he  had  left  them  to 
follow  him,  and  set  out  for  home.  Blithely  Louis  started 
on  his  return.  He  was  far  too  young  not  to  feel  a  keen  de- 
light in  making  others  happy.  He  was  very  happy  just 
now.  The  sunshine  was  so  bright ;  the  air  so  fresh ; 
the  landscape  so  beautiful ;  the  song  of  the  birds  so  thril- 
lingly  rapturous ;  the  voice  of  the  waterfalls  so  glad  ;  his 
own  physical  organization  so  harmoniously  attuned  to  all 
this  beauty  and  joy,  that  it  was  no  wonder  the  heart  of 
Louis  beat  in  response  to  all  this  glory  of  nature.  Then  all 
the  past  was  so  delightful  to  recall ;  the  future  so  blissful 
to  anticipate.  Had  he  not  just  made  a  whole  family  hap- 
py ?  Was  he  not  about  to  be  supremely  happy  himself,  in 
meeting  Louise  ?  Was  he  not  in  the  very  morning  of  life- 
just  eighteen — with  a  beautiful  and  beloved  wife  two  yean 
younger ;  with  an  Eden  home ;  with  congenial  friends ; 
with  immense  wealth ;  with  a  heart  and  mind  capable  of 
enjoying  his  position  in  the  highest  degree;  with  every 
blessing  himself — with  great  facilities  of  blessing  others  F 
Never  had  Louis  so  keenly  appreciated  the  blessedness  of 


MO  THI     MOTHER-IN-LJLW. 

his  lif«,  as  yery  late,  on  the  evening  of  his  return,  when  ap> 
proachkg  the  river,  the  white  walls  of  Mont  Crystal,  be- 
tween the  divided  forest  that  crowned  the  hill,  loomed  np 
in  his  sight,  just  discernible  in  the  bright  starlight.  He 
would  go  there  first,  and  defer  his  visit  to  The  Crags  and 
his  return  to  the  Isle  until  the  next  day.  He  spurred 
bis  horse  into  a  gallop,  and  rode  rapidly  up  to  the 
outer  gate  ;  and  flingir.g  Limself  from  the  saddle,  he  at- 
tempted to  open  it.  It  was  locked  on  the  inside.  It  was 
a  heavy  oak  gate,  painted  green,  and  fastened  with  a  strong 
chain  and  padlock.  He  rapped  loudly  with  the  loaded  end 
of  his  riding- whip.  The  noise  of  his  rap  dying  away  in 
echo,  left  silence.  He  listened.  Nothing  was  heard  but 
the  chirping  of  those  little  insects  that  wake  at  night,  and 
the  slight  rustle  of  the  leaves,  and  the  low  murmur  of  the 
waters.  He  waited.  No  one  replied.  A  vague  fear 
passed  over  his  mind.  Was  Louise  ill  ?  He  looked  np 
the  long  locust  avenue  at  the  house,  some  hundred  yardt 
back.  It  was  closed  up — but  then  it  was  always  so  after 
dark.  He  rapped  again,  loudly,  and  long ;  watched,  lis- 
tened. Again  the  sound  died  away  in  silence,  leaving  noth- 
ing but  the  low  rural  night  sounds  audible.  He  rapped  a 
third  time,  as  loudly  as  possible,  and  shouted,  "  The  house, 
the  house,  there  ?"  Again  he  watched,  listened,  watched. 
This  time  he  perceived  a  figure  approaching  down  the  shaded 
avenue.  It  was  Kate  Jumper,  who  stood  now  at  the  gate, 

"  Ha,  Kate,  how  do  you  do  ?  How  is  Mrs.  Louis  and 
your  mistress  ?  Yon  kept  me  waiting  here  a  long  time, 
my  good  Kate.  Where  is  the  porter  ?  Come  Kate,  my  good 
woman,  unfasten  the  gate  ;  I  am  impatient ;  be  quick  1" 

"  The  ladies  are  not  at  home,  sir,"  replied  the  mulatto, 
stolidly. 

"  Not  at  home  !  Ot  I  an:  sorry  for  that  I  Where  har« 
they  been  spending  the  day  ?  They  are  late  on  their  mil 
However,  admit  me,  Kat« ;  I  will  await  their  return." 


"THE     THUNDERBOLT."  181 

"The  ladies  will  not  be  back  to-night,  sir." 

"Not  to-night?  How  singular!  Where  have  they 
gone  ?" 

"I  do  not  know,  sir." 

"  When  are  they  coming  back  ?" 

"I  do  not  know,  sir." 

"When  did  they  go?" 

"  I  do  not  know,  sir,"  said  the  mulatto,  still  guarding 
the  gate. 

"You  'do  not  know'  when  they  went — you,  who  wer« 
here  all  the  time  1  Kate,  what  does  all  this  mean  ?"  ex- 
claimed the  young  man  in  surprise. 

"1  do  not  know,  sir. " 

"You  'do  not  know'  still !  Explain  yourself,  woman," 
commanded  Mr.  Stuart-Gordon,  looking  severely  at  her 
iogged  countenance. 

She  paused  in  silence. 

"  Speak  1" 

"  What  must  I  say,  sir  ?" 

"  Where  are  your  ladies  7" 

"I  do  not  know,  sir." 

"  Tut  I  I  am  a  fool  to  grow  impatient  at  a  sulky  negro," 
thought  Louis. 
Then  his  countenance  lighted  up,  and  he  exclaimed — 

"  Oh,  I  have  it  I  They  are  at  The  Isle  of  Rays.  Yes, 
certainly,  they  are  at  The  Isle  of  Rays.  Strange  I  did  not 
tnink  of  it  at  once*  Say,  Kate,  are  they  not  at  the  Isle  ?" 

"I  do  not  know,  sir." 

"  Tchat !"  exclaimed  Louis,  between  impatience  and 
amazement  at  the  woman  3  sullenness,  as  he  hopped  into  his 
•addle,  and  turned  his  horse's  head  toward  the  Isle. 

"  So  best ;  expecting  me  to  go  home  first,  Louise  ha* 
gone  home  tc  receive  me — that  dear,  gentle  Louise."  And 
Louis  quickened  his  horse's  pace  into  a  gallop,  and  in  half 
an  hour  reached  the  Isle,  fully  expecting  to  find  the  draw 


SSI  ¥KB     MOTHBB-IN-LAW. 

fnf-roora  lighted  up,  and  wearing  a  festive  appearano* 
for  his  reception.  He  galloped  rapidly  up  to  the  door. 
There  was  no  unusual  brilliancy  about  the  front  entrance. 
He  threw  himself  from  the  saddle,  gave  the  bridle  to 
Apollo,  wh )  stood  to  take  it,  and  with  a  hasty  question  of 
"All  well  at  home,  Apollo?"  to  which  Apollo  replied, 
"  Yes,  sir,"  he  hastened  into  the  house,  through  the  hall, 
and  entered  the  oak  parlor.  His  father  and  his  belle  mere, 
as  he  fondly  termed  Britannia,  were  at  supper  together; 
and  a  third  cover  was  laid  for  himself,  as  though  they  had 
expected  him,  but  finally  sat  down  without  him. 

Louis  started,  looked  around  with  surprise ;  then,  hav- 
ing hastily  shaken  hands  with  his  father,  and  kissed  the 
eheek  of  his  step-mother,  Louis,  again  looking  rapidly 
around,  exclaimed — 

"  Where  is  Louise  7     I  expected  to  find  her  here." 

"  She  is  at  Mont  Crystal,"  said  Britannia. 

"  No,  she  is  not,  madam.  I  have  just  come  from  there, 
and  felt  sure  of  finding  her  here." 

"  You  have  been  to  Mont  Crystal,  then,  Louis  ?" 

"  Certainly,  sir.  I  went  there  just  as  a  matter  of  count, 
with  the  expectation  of  meeting  Louise." 

"Well?" 

"  And  Mrs.  Armstrong's  attendant  met  me  and  told  me 
they  were  not  at  home,  nor  could  I  get  any  satisfaction  as 
to  where  they  were." 

"Sit  down,  Lonia,  and  take  your  tea,"  said  Britannia. 
Louis  took  the  seat  indicated,  and  received  a  cup  of  tea 
from  Britannia,  still  looking  all  around  anxiously. 

"  My  dear  father,  it  is  absurd  to  feel  uneasy  about  this 
chance  absence,  but  I  do  feel  so,  nevertheless.  I  suppose 
it  is  the  effect  of  the  mere  disappointment ;  that  there  is — 
oh,  surely  no,  there  can  be — no  real  cause  for  anxiety  I" 

"  Nonsense  1  Compose  yourself,  and  drink  your  tea, 
Louis.  Y^a  cannot  see  your  wife  to-night ;  and  that  upon 


"TH1     THUNDERBOLT."  S&S 

title  nigbo  of  your  return,  is  a  serious  disappointment,  I 
grant.  But  you  are  fatigued ;  you  will  sleep  it  through, 
and  to-morrow  is  a  new  day." 

"  But,  father,  it  was  so  strange  in  Louise  to  go  off  on 
the  evening  I  was  expected  home " 

"  My  son,  she  was  with  her  mother,  and  if  that  lady  au- 
tocrat chose  to  take  her  off  on  a  visit,  Louise  could  not 
resist  her  will." 

"  True ;  but  then  there  was  something  strange  in  that 
woman's — Kate's  I  mean — conduct  toward  me." 

"My  dear  Louis,  Kate  was  always  a  sulky  devil;  never 
heed  her.  Eat,  Louis,  eat,  and  afterward  sleep.  To- 
morrow hurry  to  Mont  Crystal  as  early  as  you  please." 

There  was  a  self-possession,  a  freedom  from  anxiety,  in 
the  manners  of  both  the  General  and  Brighty,  that  calmed 
the  perturbation  of  Louis  ;  so  that,  though  certainly  a  little 
pensive  from  his  disappointment,  he  was  no  longer  uneasy. 
To  shorten  the  hours  of  absence  by  sleep,  Louis  goon  re- 
tired to  his  room. 

"  We  were  right  not  to  tell  him  any  bad  news  to-night, 
dear  Brighty,"  said  the  General ;  "  it  would  have  spoiled 
nis  appetite  and  sleep.  As  it  is,  his  hearty  supper  and 
good  night's  rest  will  him  make  stronger  to  encounter  Mnu 
Armstrong  to-morrow  morning.  For  the  present  let  hint 
rest." 

They  were  early  risers  at  The  Isle  of  Bays.  Indeed 
upon  these  glorious  mornings  in  this  paradise  of  natart, 
every  hour  spent  in  sleep  seemed  a  wanton  waste  of  happi- 
ness. The  most  cheerful  place  in  the  world  was  the  break- 
fast parlor  at  The  Isle  of  Rays.  You  shall  judge.  It  was 
at  the  angle  formed  by  the  front  and  side  of  the 
The  front  windows  looked  out  upon  the  piazza,  and 
manded  a  view  of  the  beautiful  terrace  with  its  graceful 
locust  trees  dropping  soft  shadows  on  the  grass — the  lawn, 
with  its  shaded  walks,  its  brooks,  its  waterfalls,  and  groTW 
tht  rail  the  river  that  pufttd  Utwtw  tte  I*U 


S34  THE     MOTHER-IN-L  AW. 

and  the  opposite  shore — upon  the  green  Jrllp  rising,  reoed 
ing,  and  losing  themselves  in  the  dim  and  distant  moun 
tains,  with  their  tops  in  the  clouds,  at  the  utmost  verge  of 
the  horizon.  Through  these  front  windows  also  shone  th« 
morning  sun,  whose  first  beams  fell  upon  the  breakfast- 
table,  shining  dazzlingly  upon  the  snow-white  damask  cloth, 
and  kindling  into  splendor  the  tea  and  coffee  service. 
Th6  back  windows  of  this  cheerful  room  opened  upon  a 
garden  of  roses,  now  so  fresh  with  morning  dew  that  their 
odor  filled  the  room.  And  then  the  birds !  throwing  all 
their  souls  of  joy  in  their  rapturous  morning  reveille. 

Brighty  was  in  this  room  very  early ;  Brighty  in  her  cool 
and  graceful  morning-dress  of  India  muslin,  moving  about 
blithely,  occupied  with  the  thousand  and  one  little  cares 
and  pleasures  of  housekeeping  that  not  all  her  staff  of  ser- 
vants could  deliver  her  from.  Now  stopping  to  adjust  upon 
the  table  some  dish  just  brought  up,  now  arranging  at  the 
back  windows  the  branch  of  some  rose-bush  peeping 
through,  now  at  the  front  windows,  pausing,  in  entranced 
delight,  to  receive  the  inflowing  of  all  the  divine  beauty 
and  melody  around  her.  The  door  opened  ;  Louis  Stuart- 
Gordon  entered.  Brighty  came  forward,  smiling  and  hold- 
ing out  her  hand.  Louis  gayly  and  fondly  carried  it  to  his  lips. 

"Madam,"  said  Louis,  "how  long  will  it  be  before  we 
shall  have  breakfast  ?" 

"Ah  !  yon  are  in  a  hurry  to  reach  Mont  Crystal.  Too 
need  not  be,  for  if  the  family  remained  abroad  all  night,  it 
is  likely  that  they  will  not  be  at  home  until  after  breakfast. 
We  only  wait  for  the  General." 

"  Madam,"  again  said  Louis,  smilingly  taking  her  hand, 
"do  you  know  that  I  find  some  embarrassment  in  addressing 
you  ?  To  call  you  Mrs.  Stuart-Gordon,  is  quite  too  formal ; 
to  call  you  '  mother,'  would  be  absurd,  and  I  dare  not  call 
yen  Britannia.  Twenty  times,  my  belle  mire  I  have  bo«i 
on  the  point  of  asking  you  wnat  I  sball  call  700." 


"fflE    THUNbERBOLf."  885 

Call  her  Brighty  I  call  her  Brighty,  Louis  I"  said  the 
tih-oeral,  who  suddenly  stood  among  them.  "Call  her  by 
the  pretty  contraction  of  Britannia — Brighty — for  she  is  the 
brightness  of  your  father's  house — the  brightness  of  hu 
heart  and  life;" — and  the  General  drew  her  to  his  bosom 
and  kissed  her  fondly. 

"And,  Louis,  never  raise  the  tips  of  her  fingers  to  your 
lips,  when  her  cheek  is  glowing  so  near  you.  Love  Brigh- 
ty, Louis,  as  Louise  loves  her.  Brighty  always  carried  a 
heart  under  that  glowing  bodice  of  hers." 

"  Come !  to  breakfast  1"  smiled  Britannia,  leading  the 
way  to  the  table. 

Breakfast  passed  off  in  a  gay  chat.  Louis  soon  dispatched 
his  coffee  and  muffins,  and  excusing  himself,  arose  to  leave 
the  table. 

"Off,  Louis  ?"  asked  the  General. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"To  Mont  Crystal." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Stay,  Louis  ;  sit  down,  my  dear  son  ;  Brighty  and  my 
•elf  wish  to  have  a  little  conversation  with  yon  before  you 
set  out." 

Louis  resumed  his  seat,  and  turned  his  face  toward  his 
father  with  au  attitude  and  expression  of  attention. 

"  We  would  not  disturb  you  with  anything  unpleasant  last 
night,  Louis,  because  it  was  too  late  too  do  anything,  and 
because  it  would  only  have  spoiled  your  supper  and  your 
rest — and  we  consider  that  every  good  meal  and  every 
good  sleep  is  so  much  real  gain  in  this  world  of  infirm- 
ity and  sullenness.  For  the  same  reason,  Louis,  I  said 
nothing  until  you  had  breakfast — and,  Louis,"  continued  the 
General,  buttering  his  muffin,  "  I  should  have  said  nothing 
until  you  had  digested  your  breakfast,  only  that  your  haaU 
make*  the  disclosure  necessary." 


886  THE     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

Louis  had  been  growtug  uneasy — anxious;  his  looki 
•xpressed  it. 

"Well,  sir  1" 

"  Well,  Louia — but  my  son,  do  not  look  so  alarmed — " 

"But  Louise  I  Louise  1" 

"  Is  well  and  happy,  for  aught  I  know  to  the  contrary — " 

"And—" 

"  At  Mont  Crystal  with  her  mother  of  course,  where  I 
strongly  suspect  she  was  at  the  very  moment  you  called 
there." 

"Sir!  my  father !" 

"  Wait  Louis,  and  hear  me  explain.  The  affected  recon- 
ciliation was  all  a  stratagem  on  the  part  of  Mrs.  Armstrong 
to  get  Louise  into  her  power.  She  shuts  hc»r  up  at  Mont 
Crystal,  denying  admittance  to  every  member  of  our  family." 

"  My  wife  !  What  can  be  the  reason  ?"  exclaimed  Louis, 
divided  between  astonishment  and  indignation. 

"  Ah  I  the  reason  1"  repeated  the  General,  sipping  his 
coffee.  "Who  can  fathom  the  heart  and  discover  the 
motive  of  a  bad  woman  for  her  bad  acts  ?" 

"  But  her  ostensible  reason  ?" 

"  Her  ostensible  reason  is  that  the  terms  of  the  marriage 
contract  have  not  been  kept,  inasmuch  as  Louise  is  not  at 
the  head  of  this  establishment.  This  reason,  she  gave  on  a 
visit  she  made  me  about  a  week  since,  affirming  at  the  same 
tine  that,  until  myself  and  my  wife  should  give  up  posses- 
sion here,  Louise  should  not  see  or  speak  to  her  husband, 
or  any  member  of  his  family." 

"  The  old  controversy,  then,  sir  F" 

"  Exactly.  Bat  her  real  reason  is  a  concealed  mortifica- 
tion and  desire  of  revenge. 

Here  General  Stuart-Gordon,  for  the  first  time,  related 
to  Louis  the  mutual  and  terrible  misapprehension  of  hla- 
•elf  and  Mrs.  Armstrong,  wk«n  conversing  apoa  matrbsw- 


"THK   THUNDKBBOLT."  S8f 

Louis  aud  Britannia,  despite  of  the  serious  matter  ia  hand, 
gave  way  to  the  ludicrousaess  of  the  scene  as  described  by 
the  General,  and  laughed  heartily.  The  laugh  did  Louis 
good.  It  raised  his  spirits. 

"  Now,  Louis,"  continued  the  General,  "  we  do  not  oou- 
rider  the  matter  very  grave.  Of  course  this  lady  must  give 
mp  your  wife.  It  would  be  absurd  to  suppose  that  she 
would  refuse  steadily,  the  worst  will  be  a  rupture  between 
the  families  of  Mont  Crystal  and  the  Isle.  Thaf  will  be 
unpleasant  certainly.  But  really  perfect  happiness  is  not 
the  lot  of  any  human  being,  and,  as  we  have  so  many  bless- 
ings, we  must  reconcile  ourselves  to  this  unpleasantry,  con- 
sidering, meanwhile,  that  to  be  struck  from  the  visiting 
list  of  Mrs.  Armstrong  is  one  of  the  lightest  miseries  that 
could  happen  to  us.  But,  Brighty,  my  doar,  you  are  look 
ing  gloomy.  What  is  the  matter  ?" 

"I  am  thinking  of  Louise — poor  child;  that  whoerer 
gains  the  victory,  she  must  be  the  loser ;  and  I  am  wishing, 
if  possible,  that,  for  her  sake,  a  permanent  peace  could  be 
effected." 

"I  wish  so,  too." 

"Have  you  anything  further  to  say  to  me,  my  dear 
rir?" 

"  Oh,  no  1 — oh,  no !  I  thought  it  right  to  pnt  yon  in 
possession  of  the  facts  before  yon  left ;  that  is  all.  I  did 
not,  myself,  consider  them  very  important,  except  that  they 
might  have  given  you  unnecessary  anxiety." 

Louis  bowed,  and  left  the  room. 

"Yon  have  eaten  no  breakfast,  my  dear  Brighty,"  s«!i 
the  General. 

"  I  am  thinking  of  Louise  and  Louis.  They  !OT«  cst 
another  fondly;  and  they  are  ooth  so  gentle — poorchildra; 
and  they  should  be  so  happy ;  and  I  sympathise  so  modi 
ia  their  affection  for  each  other,  that  I  dread 
tkat  Beriousl)  threatens  their  peace," 


888  THE     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

"  Do  not  feel  so  ranch,  my  darling.  Yon  did  not  seea 
to  think  this  very  serious  till  now." 

"  Nor  did  I,  sir — for  I  did  not  know  until  now  how  great 
*  humiliation  she  had  suffered ;  how  lasting  a  cause  of 
vengeance  that  will  be  to  a  woman  like  her." 

"Yet  Mrs.  Armstrong  will  not  dare  to  brave  public 
opinion  by  attempting  to  keep  Louise  from  her  husband." 

"  Mrs.  Armstrong  will  dare  to  do  anything  she  pleases 
to  do ;  a*nd  Mrs.  Armstrong  would  think  it  very  imperti- 
nent in  public  opinion  to  sit  i-  judgment  on  any  of  her  ac- 
tions. Take  my  knowledge  of  her  for  that." 

"Yet  you  did  not  seem  to  know  her  very  well,  Brighty. 
She  deceived  you,  as  all  of  us,  in  her  affected  reconcilia- 
tion." 

"  I  did  not  know  her  duplicity,  sir,  certainly ;  and  it 
was  the  very  last  vice  of  which  I  should  have  suspected  her. 
I  knew  her  almost  omnipotence  of  will,  her  immutability  of 
purpose ;  but  I  supposed  her  too  haughty  for  duplicity ; 
and  a  woman  like  her  resorting  to  duplicity,  only  proves 
how  deeply  seated  her  desire  of  vengeance  is,  and  that 
alarms  me  the  more." 

"  Oh  1  nonsense,  my  dear.  Would  you  make  me  believe 
that  Mrs.  Armstrong  is  a  Lady  Macbeth  ?  Come,"  said 
he,  going  to  the  table  and  pouring  out  a  cup  of  coffee — 
"drink  this,  darling,  and  discover  for  yourself  what  a  differ- 
ent aspect  affaire  will  wear  after  a  good  cup  of  coffee." 

Brighty's  smile  broke  out  like  sunshine,  chasing  the 
shadow  from  her  brow,  as  she  received  the  cup  so  affection- 
ately tendered,  and  sipped  its  contents. 

"There  now,  you  shall  have  your  song  as  usual,  before 
you  go  out,"  she  said,  rising  gayly,  and  leading  the  way  to 
the  parlor — "A  hunting  song,  of  course,  my  dear  Nirn- 
Tod  ?» 

"Of  course,  my  dear  Brighty." 

She  played  a  prelude  and  commenced  singinc  an  in»pu> 


"THE   THUNDERBOLT."  389 

Ing  old  song,  of  which  the  General  was  very  fond — "  Hark 
away  1  hark  away  !  hark  away  to  the  downs  !"— the  General 
standing  at  the  back  of  her  chair,  and  joining  in  the  chorus. 
Ats  it  conclusion  she  would  have  left  the  piano,  but,  the 
General  telling  her  that  he  should  not  go  out  until  the  re- 
turn of  Louis,  she  resumed  her  seat,  and  played  and  sung 
several  other  pieces  to  fill  up  the  time,  until  the  horse  of 
Louis  galloped  into  the  yard,  and  his  step  sounded  in  th« 
hall.  He  entered,  pale  and  agitated. 

"  Well,  Louis !"  anxiously  exclaimed  both  the  General 
and  Brighty. 

Louis  threw  himself  into  a  chair  before  speaking ;  then 
he  said — "  I  have  been  denied  admittance." 

"  Certainly,  we  expected  that.  Indeed,  we  considered 
your  visit  merely  as  a  matter  of  form— a  preliminary  ne- 
cessary before  making  a  formal  demand  for  the  restitution 
of  your  wife.  Now,  Louis,  you  are  to  write  to  Mrs.  Arm- 
strong, demanding  the  return  of  Louise." 

"  No,"  said  Louis,  "  I  shall  first  write  to  Louse,  request- 
ing her  to  come  home." 

"  Do  so,  then,  my  son." 

"  Take  my  word  for  it,  Louise  will  never  get  your  let- 
ter," said  Britannia,  "  unless  you  take  some  indirect  and 
secret  way  of  getting  it  into  her  hands." 

"Zounds  !  It  would  be  a  relief  at  this  moment  to  swear. 
Was  ever  a  respectable  family  placed  in  so  awkward  and 
ridiculous  a  position  before  ?" 

"Louis,  don't  be  a  fool — take  no  more  conciliatory  mea- 
sures at  all.  It  is  loss  of  time  and  labor.  Raise  the  devil 
about  the  ears  of  that  old  Hecate  !  Get  out  a  writ  ol  Tia- 
beas  corpus.  Sue  for  your  marital  rights." 

"  Sue  for  my  marital  rights !     Saints  and  angels !  my 

father,  but  you  have  forgotten  all  that  is  lovely  in  love,  to 

dream  of  such  a  thing.     Sue  for  my  marital  rights  !     Sue 

whom  ?    Sue  Louise,  that  gentle  and  tender  Louise  f    Sue 

34 


890  THC     MOTHEB-IX-LAW. 

her!  Yes.  Heaven  knows,  if  I  could  get  adraittaice  U 
Ssr  dear  presence,  how  I  would  sue  her !  With  bended 
knee  and  uplifted  hands  and  eyes,  I  would  sue  for  the  privi- 
lege  of  passing  my  whole  life  with  her,  of  devoting  my  whole 
life  to  her.  That  is  the  manner  in  which  I  would  sue 
Louise." 

"  And  you  are  right,  my  dear,  noble-hearted  Louis.  You 
would  not  shock  her  delicacy,  or  wound  her  sensibilities,  by 
any  other  suit,  at  least." 

"  May  God  mend  the  wits  of  all  poets,  I  say  !  That's 
for  your  benefit,  Louis  I  And  for  you,  Miss  Brighty  I 
bright  eyes — bright  hair — bright  lips — do  you  run  away  ! 
Nay,  I  implore  you  to  do  so  ;  that  I  may  show  Master  Louis 
how  long  I  should  sit  here,  twisting  my  fingers,  with  my 
eyes  on  the  ground,  in  patient  widowhood !"  exclaimed  the 
General,  in  a  half-petulant,  half-caressing  tone. 

"  No,  I  am  much  obliged  to  you,  sir.  I  prefer  not.  Like 
Mrs.  Armstrong,  I  think  that  all  scenes  are  decidedly  vul- 
gar ;  unlike  Mrs.  Armstrong,  I  cannot  defy  public  opinion  !" 
Then  turning  to  Lonis,  she  said — "  All  I  beg  of  you,  Louis, 
is,  that  you  will  do  nothing  in  haste.  Be  patient  for  a  little 
while.  Do  not,  above  all  things,  let  this  matter  become 
public  through  any  imprudence  of  yours.  Let  the  world 
believe  for  the  present,  that  Louise  is  on  a  visit  to  her 
mother.  Wait;  this  cannot  last.  It  is  preposterous  to 
think  that  a  young  husband  and  young  wife,  who  love  each 
other  tenderly,  can  be  separated  finally  by  any  thing  but 
death.  All  that  is  to  be  feared  now,  is,  that  this  matter 
will  get  out,  and  reflect  discredit  upon  the  family.  That 
would  be  so  shocking !  Guard  against  that,  Louis  ?  Be 
patient,  wad  I  will  do  all  that  I  can  for  you.  All  will  b« 
well.  Come,  Louis,  be  cheerful  I" 

"Ah,  madam  !  if  you  did  but  know  how  this  treatment 
of  me  by  Louise  pierces  my  heart  1" 

"  I  do  kmw  it»  dear  Louis ;  but  you  must  not  blame  Ixraift 


"THE     THUNDERBOLT.*  811 

too  severely.  A  rule  that  would  apply  to  any  other  wo- 
nan  will  not  apply  to  her.  Louise  had  received  a  peculiar 
education.  It  was  in  consideration  of  that  fact  that  I  ap- 
plauded your  resolution  of  not  suing  otherwise  than  as  a 
lorer  might.  Louise  loves  you  tenderly,  and  suffers  in  this 
separation  from  you,  but  she  considers  that  her  first  duty  ie 
obedience  to  her  mother.  Thai  duty  has  been  impressed 
on  her  mind  from  her  infancy  up.  She  knows  nothing  of 
her  duty  as  a  wife;  that  has  never  been  taught  her." 

"  But  one  would  suppose,"  said  Louis,  "that  her  natural 
instincts  would  enlighten  her." 

"Dear  Louis,  her  mother  has  taught  her  to  consider  her 
mere  instincts  as  so  many  temptations  of  the  evil  one. 
Louise  had  been  taught  but  one  of  the  Ten  Commandments, 
'Honor  thy  father  and  thy  mother' — but  not  '  Love  and 
honor  thy  husband  ;'  she  knows  nothing  of  that.  The  whole 
of  the  life  of  Louise  has  been  spent  in  learning  and  prac- 
ticing one  lesson — filial  honor  and  obedience.  It  is  her  id- 
iosyncrasy— her  monomania.  All  her  life  she  has  been  in 
the  hands  of  her  mother,  and  that  mother  has  used  that  time 
in  obtaining  and  confirming  an  almost  omnipotent  power 
over  the  heart  of  her  child.  And  at  her  mother's  command 
she  will  renounce  her  husband,  although  her  heart  were  to 
break  in  the  renunciation  !" 

"But  this  is  unnatural  1  monstrous  !" 

"  Tes,  it  is  unnatural — monstrous — but  it  is  the  effect  of 
education  ;  and  you  know  the  all-powerful  influence  of  edu- 
cation. One  educated  in  a  particular  belief,  creed — be  it 
ever  so  far  from  right  reason — will  die,  if  necessary,  for  that 
treed  I  Some  of  the  gentlest,  tenderest,  and  most  timid 
women  that  have  ever  lived,  have  suffered  themselves  to  bo 
tanged,  burned,  or  torn  by  wild  horses,  rather  than  renounc* 
•ome  point  of  duty  in  which  they  believed,  no  matter  how 
far  from  the  truth  it  might  be.  So  with  Louise  She  wit 


02  THK     M  OTHER- Ilf. LAW. 

endure  all  suffering  rather  than  disobey  her  mother, 
that  is  her  religion." 

"  Louis  I  get  her  back  home ;  get  her  home.  She  it 
yonng  yet,  and  you  can  teach  her  a  new  creed.  I  woald 
not  give  a  cent  for  a  young  man  who  could  not  induce  his 
young  bride  to  believe  that  the  stars  were  all  angels,  or 
anything  else  he  pleased.  Only  get  her  home — by  fair 
means  or  foul,"  exclaimed  the  general. 

"  Hush-sh-sh !"  said  Brighty,  laying  one  hand  on  hi* 
lips,  and  throwing  the  other  arm  affectionately  over  Ma 
shoulder.  "  Do  not  urge  Louis  to  any  such  a  step.  You 
do  not  know  Louise  as  well  as  I  do.  She  is  morbidly  sen- 
litive — very  frail  and  nervous.  Any  violent  controversy 
oetween  her  husband  and  her  mother  would  kill  Louise." 

"  And  yet  you  bade  me  wait  and  hope.  0,  madam,  was 
not  that  a  mockery  ?"  asked  Louis,  turning  reproachfully 
toward  Britannia. 

"  No,  Louis,  I  am  incapable  of  mockery.  I  advised  you 
not  to  shock  and  alarm  Louise  by  any  hasty  or  violent 
measures.  And  I  told  you  all  I  know  of  her  own  and  her 
mother's  peculiarities,  that  you  may  know  that  violence  will 
do  no  sort  of  good,  but  all  harm.  And  I  entreated,  and 
still  entreat,  you  to  have  patience — to  take  time  to  reflect 
I  will  think  for  you,  and  do  all  in  my  power  to  bring  mat- 
ters to  a  happy  issue — use  only  prudent  and  conciliatory 
means  at  first — and  all  must  be  well." 

With  a  heavy  sigh,  Louis  took  his  hat  and  left  the  room 
General  Stuart-Gordon,  shaking  his  head  dubiously,  soon 
arose  and  followed  him. 

Four  days  passed  away,  during  which  Louis  had  writ- 
ten both  to  Mrs.  Armstrong  and  to  Louise.  These  let- 
ters might  as  well  have  been  dropped  into  a  well,  for  aay 
reply  they  received.  Sunday  came.  Mrs.  Armstrong  was 
a  regular  attendant  at  church. 


MONT     CRYSTAL.  868 

"  I  shall  see  Louise  at  morning  service,"  said  Louis,  and 
he  hurried  off  to  church. 

The  Armstrong  pew  was  empty,  and  remained  empty 
during  the  whole  service. 

A  month  elapsed,  during  which  Louis  had  presented 
himself  many  times  at  Mont  Crystal,  and  had  been  con- 
stantly denied  admittance — a  month,  during  which  he  had 
written  and  written,  agaic  and  again,  to  Louise  and  to 
Mrs.  Armstrong,  without  producing  the  slightest  effect. 
By  no  token  could  he  be  sure  that  they  received  his  letters. 
They  gave  no  sign,  not  even  by  returning  them.  Mrs 
Armstrong  maintained  a  stern  but  inflexible  silence.  He 
attended  church  regularly,  but  never  met  Louise  or  Mrs. 
Armstrong  there.  General  Stuart-Gordon  wrote  to  Mrs 
Armstrong.  His  letter  also  seemed  to  have  fallen  into  a 
grave.  Then  the  General  called  at  Mont  Crystal,  and  was 
told  the  ladies  were  not  at  home.  Britannia  had  also  made 
a  call  with  no  better  success.  Thus  two  months  passed 
away. 


CHAPTER   XXXII. 

MONT    CRYSTAL. 


O'er  that  house  there  hangs  a  solemn  gloom ; 
That  step  falls  timid  In  each  gorgeous  room, 
Vast,  sumptuous,  dreary  as  some  Eastern  pile, 
Where  mates  keep  watch— a  home  without  a  smile 


How  many  a  sleepless  form  has  no  other  watcher  than 
the  patient  moon  I  One  quiet  night,  about  the  last  of 
October,  r°sar  midnight,  the  moon  arose,  and  as  it  as*end«4 


IV*  TH1     MOTHKR-IIT-LAW. 

toward  the  zenith,  shed  a  flood  of  silver  radiance  over  tb« 
river,  The  Isle  of  Rays,  and  the  lofty  mansion  of  Mont 
Crystal.  Near  the  dawn  of  day,  stealing  through  the  front 
windows  of  Mont  Crystal,  the  moonbeams  looked  into  that 
§ame  front  bed-chamber,  once  described  as  the  summer 
Bleeping -room  of  Mrs.  Armstrong.  This  chamber  con- 
tained two  bedsteads  —  a  large  tent  bedstead,  with  ita 
white  dimity  curtains  down,  and  a  little  cot,  covered  with  a 
white  Marseilles  counterpane.  The  little  white  cot  stood 
between  the  tent  bedstead  and  the  front  windows.  The 
moonbeams,  coming  through  the  window,  fell  upon  the  cot 
and  upon  the  wan  face  of  Louise,  glistening  upon  the  tear- 
drops that  hung  upon  her  eyelashes.  Her  emaciated  hands 
were  clasped  above  her  head.  She  lay  so  still,  and  looked 
BO  white,  that  but  for  the  glistening  tear-drops,  and  the 
occasional  convulsion  of  her  bosom,  she  might  have  been 
supposed  to  be  asleep  or  dead.  At  last,  a  slight  move- 
ment from  the  tent  bedstead  startled  her.  She  unclasped 
her  hands,  and  listened.  The  noise,  as  of  some  one  turn- 
ing in  the  bed,  was  repeated.  Lonise  raised  upon  her 
elbow,  and  listened  again  attentively.  She  now  heard 
something  between  a  hem  and  a  groan,  as  of  one  waking 
«p.  Now  she  murmured  softly — 
"  Mother,  dear,  are  yon  awake  ?" 
"  Yes,  Louise  I"  proceeded  from  the  curtains. 
"Oh  I  I  am  so  glad.  I  have  not  slept  to-night,  mother. 
I  have  counted  every  hour  the  clock  has  struck.  I  have 
waited  for  you  to  awake,  so  long." 

"  You  have  had  a  sleepless  night,  my  child  !  Why  did 
you  not  touch  the  bell,  and  summon  Kate  to  give  you  a  nar- 
cotic ?  What  has  been  the  matter  ?  Nothing  but  yonr 
•sual  nervousness,  I  hope  ?" 

"  Mother,  I  could  not  sleep  for  joy  and  fee  sorrow." 
"  Strange  paradox,  that !  what  do  you  mean,  Louise  Jn 
Louise  s'typed  softly  eat  of  bed,  and  going  to  the  side  of 


MONT     CRYSTAL.  896 

the  ,ent  bedstead,  and  putting  aside  the  curtains,  stooped 
and  kissed  her  mother,  dropping  a  tear  upon  her  face.  Then 
kneeling  by  her  side,  she  took  her  hand  and  covered  it  with 
kisses. 

"Mamrna,  I  must  return  to  Louis  !  indeed  I  must,  mam 
ma,  if  he  will  take  me  back  1     Indeed,  I  most,  mamma,  if  he 
were  twenty  times  a  traitor!" 

"  Hey  !  what  I  how  !  what  is  all  this  wretched  nonsense, 
now  f" 

"  Mamma,  I  shall  be  a  mother  soon  !"  said  Louise,  in  a 
voice  between  timidity  and  tenderness. 

"  WHAT  1"  exclaimed  the  lady,  raising  upon  her  elbow, 
and  gathering  her  black  brows  into  an  awful  frown — 
"  WHAT  1" 

"  God  has  blessed  me !  I  too,  shall  be  a  mother,  dear 
mamma  1  Oh  1  mamma,  kiss  me  now  that  I  have  told 
you !» 

"  It  is  not  true !  It  cannot  be  true  1"  exclaimed  Mrs, 
Armstrong,  still  glaring  at  her  daughter. 

"  Mamma,  it  is  so ;  and  I  must  return  to  Louis — indeea 
I  must,  mamma !" 

"  To  a  man  whose  whole  heart  is  given  to  his  mistress  ?" 

"  If  it  be  so,  it  is  dreadful,  mamma,  but  I  cannot  help  it. 
He  does  love  me  a  little.  Any  how,  I  know  /love  him  en- 
tirely  ;  and  bankrupt  that  I  am,  I  could  be  happier,  even  ia 
his  divided  affection,  than  I  am,  severed  from  him  here. 
And  oh,  mother  1  being  separated  from  him  under  these 
circumstances,  gives  me  a  feeling  of  degradation — of  shame  I" 

"  I  do  not  wonder  at  it,  if  these  circumstances  were  aa 
you  fancy,  Miss  Armstrong." 

"  Oh,  mamma  I  do  not  call  me  '  Miss  Armstrong '  any 
onger,  I  beg  of  you ;  for,  although  as  you  say  I  am  but  a 
mere  child,  yet  I  am  not  •  Miss  Armstrong ; '  and  to  hear 
you  call  we  so,  mother,  covers  my  face  with  burning 


196  THE     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

"  Oh  !    beg  your  pardon,  Mrs.  Louis  Stuart- Gordom 
I  will  try  to  bear  in  mind  your  dignity  for  the  future." 

"  Mamma,  can  you  not  call  me  Louise  ?  Speak  to  m« 
kindly,  dear  mamma." 

"  I  am  not  sufficiently  well  pleased  with  y  >u,  ma'am,  to 
address  you  so  familiarly." 

"  Mamma,  how  have  I  given  yon  offense  f 

"By  the  subject  of  your  conversation.  Now,  let  me  hear 
no  more  ridiculous  nonsense  about  returning  to  that  young 
scapegrace,  nor  the  other  miserable  shift-about — pshaw  I 
fudge  !  stuff!  you  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself  to  have 
such  fancies." 

"  It  is  not  fancy,  it  is  fact,  mamma." 

"  SILENCE!  hush!  not  a  word  more  of  this,  I  command 
you,  Louise.  It  is  false  I  false  f  you  are  too  young — far 
too  young.  You  should  blush  at  such  imaginings." 

"  It  is  not  imagination,  mamma ;  "  persisted  Louise,  with 
a  tender  earnestness. 

"  HUSH  !  I  command  you  I  Never  dare  to  hint  this  sub- 
ject to  me,  or  to  any  one  else,  at  the  peril  of  my  grave  dis- 
pleasure. Shameful  !  But  you  are  really  out  of  health. 
You  are  ill  and  nervous,  and  so,  of  course,  full  of  idle  fan- 
cies. You  are  too  much  confined.  Yon  do  not  take  exer- 
cise enough.  You  must  go  out  more.  You  shall  ride  on 
horseback.  Nothing  is  better  for  low  spirits  than  hard 
riding  on  a  trotting  horse.  Come,  you  shall  have  your  first 
ride  to-morrow.  We  will  see  if  we  cannot  cure  you  of  these 
nervous  fancies.  Now,  return  to  bed,  and  try  to  get  some 
sleep.  Don't  you  know  you  are  taking  cold,  by  kneeling 
here  with  bare  feet  ?  Go  to  bed.  Stay  !  come  batk  a  mo- 
ment." 

"Well,  mamma?" 

"  This  is  a  very  absurd  fancy  of  yonrs,  Louise !  Now,  I 
charge  you,  do  not  betray  your  folly  to  any  one.  Do  not 


MONT     CRYSTAL.  Wl 

•peak  of  this  conceit  of  yours  to  a  soul.     It  woali  subject 
yon  to  ridicule." 

"  I  shall  be  silent,  dear  mamma." 

And  Louise  crept  back  to  bed — "  but  not  to  sleep." 

It  was  a  glorious  autumn  morning  that  rose  upon  the 
world  that  day.  Mrs.  Armstrong  always  arose  with  the 
ran  precisely.  This  morning,  as  soon  as  its  earliest  beams, 
glancing  between  the  half-closed  shutters,  gilded  the  op 
posite  wall,  Mrs.  Armstrong  was  up,  and  arrayed  in  an 
Ample  flannel  wrapper,  sitting  before  her  tall  dressing-glass, 
while  Kate  Jumper  stood  behind  her,  combing  out  her 
abundant  long  black  hair,  that  was  still  beautiful,  though 
slightly  mixed  with  silver.  Mrs.  Armstrong  glanced  from 
time  to  time  upon  Louise,  who  still  lay  extended  upon  her 
white  cot,  perfectly  motionless,  her  eyes  closed,  her  slender 
fingers  interlocked  upon  her  pale  brow — occasionally  a 
spasmodic  sigh,  agitating  her  bosom,  breaking  from  her 
lips. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  that  child,  Kate  ?"  asked  the 
lady,  looking  searchingly  in  the  face  of  her  attendant. 

"  Well,  madam,  I  think  she  is — indeed  all  the  women 
about  the  house  know  she  is — " 

"In  bad  health!"  said  the  lady,  emphatically,  and  looking 
sternly  and  threateningly  at  her  attendant. 

"Yes,  madam,  of  course,  just  as  you  say,  in  bad  health." 

"  Listen  to  me  !  She  is  out  of  spirits,  and  she  neglects 
her  toilet  sadly — more  than  I  choose  that  my  daughter  shall. 
I  shall  dismiss  her  maid,  and  do  you  take  her  place,  and 
superintend  the  dressing  of  your  young  lady.  Do  not  per- 
mit her  to  go  about  as  loosely  and  carelessly  arrayed  as  hai 
been  her  custom  of  late.  See  that  she  wears  her  stays ;  do 
you  hear  ?" 

"Yes,  madam,  I  hear  and  understand." 

"  Hear  and  literally  obey.  Do  not  trouble  your  under- 
•fending  with  m^re  than  the  literal  command." 


898  THE     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

Another  glance  at  Louise  found  her  gentle  eyes  now 
open,  and  calmly  turned  on  her  mother. 

"  It  is  time  to  rise,  my  daughter.  You  are  to  take  a 
ride  this  morning,  directly  after  breakfast.  Kate  will  dress 
you,"  said  the  lady ;  "  and  Lonise  I  insist  upon  your  paying 
more  attention  to  your  personal  appearance.  Kate  has  my 
orders."  And  the  lady,  whose  turban  was  now  arranged, 
took  up  her  bunch  of  keys,  and  marched  from  the  room. 

One  thing  Mrs.  Armstrong  wished  to  avoid  in  these 
rides — that  was,  the  possibility  of  a  rencounter  with  Louis, 
or,  what  was  worse,  with  that  old  "  Island  Seal,"  as  she 
called  the  General.  To  avoid  such  a  rencounter  by  a  keen 
vigilance,  and,  in  the  event  of  a  chance  meeting,  to  prevent 
Louise  from  "falling  into  the  hands  of  the  enemy,"  Mrs. 
Armstrong,  who  was  an  excellent  equestrian,  determined  to 
accompany  her  daughter. 

"We  will  go  down  to  see  Zoe.  Since  the  girl  knowa 
her  place,  and  does  not  presume  on  our  former  notice  of  her 
to  appear  at  Mont  Crystal,  we  can  show  her  some  kind- 
ness— can  engage  her  to  do  some  work  for  us,"  said  the 
lady,  as  soon  as  she  and  her  daughter  were  in  their  saddles. 
And  whipping  her  horse  into  a  smart  trot,  she  set  out  for 
the  Dovecote,  attended  by  a  mounted  servant  to  open  the 
gates.  Arrived  at  the  summit  of  the  hill,  and  before  begin- 
ning to  descend  the  narrow  bridle-path  leading  down  into 
the  glen  where  was  situated  the  Dovecote,  Mrs.  Armstrong 
took  out  her  glass,  and  threw  a  sweeping  glance  over  the 
ground  that  lay  stretched  down  before  them.  Apparently 
satisfied  by  her  survey,  they  began  to  descend  the  path. 
They  arrived  at  the  cottage  without  meeting  with  any  one. 

The  external  appearance  of  the  Dovecote  was  certainly 
improved.  The  yard  was  a  wilderness  of  roses.  The  win- 
dows were  open,  and  rare  and  beautiful  exotics  in  flower 
pott  tat  upon  the  sills ;  they  filled  the  air  with  their  fra 
Mr*  Anu^onf  looked  around  with  turpriat,  u* 


MONT    CRYSTAL,  iff 

Louise  with  delight,  as  they  alighted  from  their  saddle* 
and  passed  through  the  little  wicket  up  the  walk. 

The  inside  of  the  cot  was  as  much  improved  as  the  ex- 
terior. Pale  pink  gingham  curtains  at  the  windows,  shed 
a  delicate  rose-colored  light  through  the  room.  Zoe's  own 
carpet,  fresh  as  ever,  was  upon  the  floor.  A  few  choice 
pictures,  all  of  cheerful  or  of  loving  subjects,  were  on  the 
wall.  A  small  mahogany  book  case,  filled  with  books, 
and  surmounted  by  a  little  plaster-cast  statuette,  stood 
between  the  rose-curtained,  flower-filled  windows.  More 
than  all — the  idol  of  the  little  housewife — a  nice  mahogany 
workstand,  with  two  folding  leaves  and  two  drawers,  and 
lurmounted  by  a  workbox,  completely  furnished,  stood  near 
the  corner  of  the  hearth.  Zoe,  neatly  dressed  in  white 
muslin,  sat  at  this  workstand  in  a  little  rocking-chair  with- 
out arms,  her  feet  resting  upon  a  little  embroidered  footstool 
On  her  lap  lay  a  piece  of  work,  in  which  she  seemed  to 
take  great  delight.  It,  was  an  infant's  slip  she  was  em- 
broidering. Zoe  was  humming  a  lullaby  tune  to  some 
imaginary  baby,  and  looking  the  picture  of  content. 

Did  you  expect  that  Zoe  was  heart-broken?  Zoe  wa« 
too  much  of  a  child  and  a  housewife  to  break  her  heart  for 
what  had  happened  to  her,  after  her  first  fit  of  crying 
There  was  not  a  single  capillary  vein  of  tragedy  in  all  Zoe's 
happy  organization.  She  perfectly  understood  that  the 
coffee-pot  must  boil  through  all  sorts  of  troubles.  Govern- 
ments might  be  subverted,  but  supper  must  be  got.  Kings 
might  be  decapitated,  but  clothes  must  be  cut,  and  so  Zoe 
unconsciously  sung  the  imaginary  baby  to  sleep,  while  SJQ 
wrought  mimic  heart's-ease  and  rose-buds  in  the  border  of 
the  cambric  slip. 

On  the  opposite  side  of  the  work-table,  in  a  large  eagf 
chair,  sat  the  old  schoolmaster.  He  had  grown  fat,  and 
was  clothed  in  a  cool,  loose  white  linen  jacket  and  trowsers, 
and  bis  face  wore  an  air  of  celestial  calmness.  He  was  play- 


400  THE     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

ing  with  two  beautiful,  frolicsome,  tortoise-shell  kitt»ni» 
that  continually  leaped  about  him,  or  climbing  upon  hi« 
shoulders,  licking  his  hands,  or  nestling  in  his  bosom.  It 
was  plain  that  the  old  man  had  reached  his  second  child- 
hood, and  that  it  was  as  innocent  and  as  happy  as  his  first. 
There  was  not  a  singlt,  care,  or  fear,  or  doubt,  on  that  di- 
Tinely  serene  countenance — divinely  serene,  except  when 
changed  by  a  laugh,  as  glad  as  ever  rang  from  his  boyhood's 
lips.  Such  a  laugh  had  just  rung  out.  The  tortoise-shell 
kittens  had  made  a  simultaneous  spring  to  reach  his  back, 
and  tumbling  over  each  other,  had  rolled  upon  the  floor, 
and  the  old  man  had  just  laughed  aloud — when  the  door 
opened,  and  Mrs.  Armstrong  and  Louise  appeared. 

Zoe  laid  down  her  little  slip  upon  the  stand,  and  came 
forward,  curtsying,  and  setting  chairs.  Mrs.  Armstrong, 
with  a  condescending  nod  to  the  schoolmaster,  seated  her- 
Belf.  But  Louise  turned  and  tenderly  embraced  Zoe,  while 
she  said,  with  a  gentle  smile — 

"  Why,  Zoe,  have  you  not  been  to  Mont  Crystal  of  late  ? 
Didn't  you  know,  Zoe,  that  nothing  that  could  happen  to 
yea,  without  your  own  fault,  could  make  any  change  in  my 
feelings  toward  yon  ?  Oh  !  Zoe  ?"  she  said,  sinking  her 
voice  to  a  low  whisper,  "don't  you  know  that  I  would  have 
hastened  to  yon  as  soon  as  ever  I  got  home — if  I  had  been 
permuted  ?" 

"  I  know  you  would  have  done  so,  Mrs.  Stuart-Gordon,* 
said  Zoe,  pressing  her  hand. 

"  Why  don't  you  call  me  Louise  ?" 

"  Circumstances  have  so  changed  with  me,  young  lady, 
that  I  must  remember  ray  own  position,  lest  others  should 
be  obliged  to  remind  me  of  it,"  said  Zoe,  with  something  of 
gentle  dignity  in  her  manner.  Then,  still  holding  the  hand 
of  Louise,  with  the  other  hand  she  gracefully  indicated  the 
ehair,  and  seated  her  in  it. 

Mrs.  Annstvng  was  endeavoring  tc  converse  with  the 


MONT     CRYSTAL.  401 

old  schoolmaster.  Loiise  and  Zoe  were  seated  at  th« 
work-table. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  yoa  looking  so  happy  and  well,  dear 
Zoe." 

"Why  should  I  not  be  ?  What  is  changed,  except  ia 
name  ?  Oh  I  I  cried  at  first,  though  1  Oh  I  I  cried  my 
eyes  out,  nearly  I  I  thought  I  should  be  cast  out !  I 
thought  that  all  my  friends  whom  I  loved  so  dearly,  wonld 
abandon  me.  But,  ah  !  it  has  been  so  different !  My  friends 
have  changed  indeed — but  to  greater  kindness.  Gertrude 
— Miss  Lion,  I  should  say — who  used  to  treat  me  very  ca- 
priciously, sometimes  petting,  sometimes  abusing  me — Miss 
Lion  treats  me  with  the  affection  of  a  sister;  and  Brighty 
— I  mean  Mrs.  General  Stuart-Gordon — oh  I  she  has  been 
an  angel  to  me  and  to  my  adopted  father,  there.  Look 
around  upon  this  room,  madam  !  all  this  cheerful  beauty  is 
her  work — her  bounty — although  she  conceals  it  all  under 
the  veil  of  a  liberal  pay  for  the  sewing  I  do  for  her.  Ah ! 
surely  never  prosperity  blessed  a  worthier  one  than  that 
lady." 

Louise  was  turning  over  and  examining  the  baby-slip 
with  curiosity  and  interest 

"  Do  you  sew  for  any  other  family  except  that  of  the  Isle, 
Zoe  7" 

"  No  ;  Mrs.  Stuart-Gordon  gives  me  as  much  sewing  aa 
I  can  possibly  do,  and  pays  me  most  liberally.  Then  she 
always  gives  me  a  great  deal,  and  with  her  true  native  deli- 
cacy, gives  me  only  the  work  of  her  own  hands,  or  the  pro- 
duce of  her  own  garden  or  conservatory.  Look  at  those 
pictures  on  the  walls ;  they  were  painted  by  her.  This 
little  ottoman  I  use  when  sewing  was  worked  by  her.  Look 
at  those  tea-roses  and  heliotropes  in  the  pretty  porcelain 
flower-pots  in  the  window — they  were  sent  from  her  ccn- 
•erratory.  And  the  variety  of  roses  in  the  yard  wer«  &J1 


402  THX     MOTH1B-1N-LAW. 

•eot  from  her  garden  of  roses  at  the  back  of  the  Islaad 
breakfast-room." 

"  Dear  Brighty !  she  is  an  angel ;  but,  indeed,  dear  Zoe, 
my  will  to  serve  you  was  as  good  as  hers." 

"I  know  it,  my  dear  young  lady." 

Louise  was  still  turning  over  the  little  slip — measuring 
the  little  waist — running  her  fingers  into  the  little  sleeves. 
Zoe  now  observed  her  occupation,  and  forgetting  her  par- 
posed  reserve,  and  smiling  and  blushing,  she  bent  her  head 
to  the  ear  of  Louise,  and  whispered  with  a  girlish  confi- 
dence— 

"  Do  you  know,  Louise,  that  notwithstanding  all  that  hat 
happened  to  ine,  I  only  need  one  thing  to  make  me  com- 
pletely happy." 

"  And  what  is  that,  Zoe  ?" 

"  A  baby  !  Oh !  I  do  want  to  find  a  baby  so  bad  !  Ever 
since  I  left  off  my  doll,  I  have  thought,  if  I  only  had  a  liv« 
baby  to  dress  and  nnrse,  I  should  be  the  happiest  of  mor- 
tals." 

"Then  suppose  yon  should  go  out  as  a  nurse,"  said 
Louise,  half-jestingly. 

"No,  that  would  never  suit  me,  never!  I  have  been 
mistress  of  my  own  honse  ever  since  I  was  nine  years  old, 
and  I  could  not  live  in  any  body  else's,"  said  the  littl* 
housekeeper,  with  gentle  pride.  "  No,  Louise,  I  would  like 
to  find  a  baby  under  a  tree,  or  on  the  door-step,  some  fin« 
day — some  dear  little  lost  baby,  that  I  could  take  care  of; 
dear  me,  how  I  should  love  it  1  They  say  that  every  human 
being's  eyes  and  hopes  are  fixed  on  some  'far  off,  unai- 
tained,'  and  unattainable  good !  My  eyes  are  fixed  on  • 
baby  1  and  please  the  loving  angels,  I  will  some  day  pick 
op  one  of  the  Lord's  lost  little  ones,  and  raise  it  for  my 
own,  and  it  shall  call  me  nother,  and  then  I  shall  not  car* 
»  straw  if  I  M  an  old  naid  !  Bat  I  say,  Louise,"  added 


MOKT     CRYSTAL.  40i 

rite,  laughing  slyly,  "  it  it  not  dismal,  wi.cn  we  young  girl* 
can  no  longer  cheat  ourselves  with  nursing  dolls  ?" 

Louis*  smiled  sadly,  and  asked,  still  examining  the  Uttl« 
dip— 

"  Are  you  making  this  for  your  Utopian  baby  ?" 

"N — no — that  is  for  Brighty — I  mean  Mrs.  Staart- 
Gordon !» 

"Ha!  what?" 

"  Certainly ;  here" — continued  Zoe,  drawing  out  a  large 
work-basket  from. under  the  table — "look  at  all  the  sweet 
pretty  little  things  I" 

The  two  girls  were  soon  quite  absorbed  in  examining  tiny 
caps,  bibs,  slips,  &c.  While  thus  engaged,  Louise  stooped, 
and  whispered  in  the  ear  of  Zoe  this  question — 

"  How  is  yonr  father,  Zoe  ?  He  looks  better  and  happief 
than  I  ever  saw  him ;  happier,  indeed,  than  any  one  I  see 
anywhere ;  yet  there  is  something  strange  about  him — what 
isit?" 

11  Listen,  Louise !  I  will  tell  yon  all  about  it.  He  has 
passed  an  innocent  and  a  beneficent  life ;  oh  1  has  he  not  ?" 

"  Indeed  he  has !  from  all  that  we  have  heard  of  him,  and 
from  all  that  we  have  observed  ourselves." 

"Yet  a  life  foil  of  toil  and  privation." 

"Yes." 

"  His  life  has  been  like  a  cloudy  day,  that  ends  in  a  clear 
Ing  up  at  set  of  sun — a  sunset  glorious  as  the  gates  of 
Heaven.  When  the  revelation  of  my  true  position  wai 
suddenly  made  to  him,  the  shock,  together  with  his  appre- 
hension of  the  most  terrible  results,  shook  his  mind  and 
body  nearly  to  dissolution.  For  months  he  was  metamor- 
phosed— unrecognizable — mad  almost.  When  we  got  to 
The  Lair,  Brutus,  by  pledgirg  himself  to  avert  the  worst 
consequences  that  might  fall  upon  my  head,  trauqnilized 
kirn ;  bat  he  did  not  recover  his  normal  state  of  mind ;  he 
fell  into  « tcrt  of  abstraction,  tfet  iMtod  all  tht  ttet  of  eu 


404  THE     MOTHflR-IN-LAW. 

•lay  at  The  Lair.  After  oar  return  to  this  cottage,  he 
began  to  rouse  up  from  this  doll  abstraction,  and  awake, 
not  to  what  he  ever  had  been  since  I  knew  him,  but  to  a 
sort  of  gladness  and  boyishness.  And  he  has  grown  fat  and 
fair,  and  there  he  is — the  happy  child-angel  that  you  see 
him.  It  is  profane  to  call  this  beautiful  emancipation  o. 
this  guileless  spirit  dotage — '  it  is  '  second  childhood'  indeed  1 
—a  state  very  near  beatification  !  Oh,  Louise  !  nothing  has 
ever  revealed  Heaven  to  me  with  so  much  power  as  this  old- 
man's  so-called  'dotage.'  The  dotage  of  a  life  innocent  as 
his  has  been — what  is  it  but  the  blissful  trance  of  a  spirit 
standing  on  the  confines  of  both  worlds — communing  with 
both,  bearing  from  the  one  a  glory  that  enlightens  the  other  1 
He  seems  to  me  always  an  angel,  or  a  child.  Listen,  Louise .' 
While  we  sit  here  together — I  with  my  needle,  he  with  hit 
pets — sometimes  he  lets  them  run  off,  and  closes  his  eyes, 
find  sinks  into  a  sort  of  happy  abstraction,  a  beautiful  calm 
iiffoses  itself  over  his  countenance,  which  anon  grows 
brighter  and  brighter,  until  it  seems  to  radiate  light  and 
beauty,  as  an  angel's ;  and  I  pause  from  my  work,  and  gaze 
with  awe,  until  my  faith  in  Heaven  reaches  certainty.  And 
presently  he  will  awake  from  that  abstraction,  and  begin  to 
look  around,  and  chat  with  me,  and  play  with  his  pets,  and 
laugh  as  gleefully  as  a  child  at  the  merest  trifle.  Yet  there 
is  no  folly,  no  imbecility,  not  the  least  in  all  this — it  is 
always  the  innocent  joy  of  the  child,  or  the  inspiration  of 
the  angel." 

Mrs.  Armstrong,  while  apparently  occupied  with  the  old 
nan,  had  lost  no  part  of  this  conversation ;  and  her  brow 
had  grown  very  dark  at  those  parts  that  had  concerned  Bri- 
tannia. The  old  man  now  arose,  and  approached  the  girls, 
and  looked  wistfully  into  the  face  of  Louise ;  then  he 
itretched  forth  his  hand,  and  laying  it  on  her  head, 
blessed  her.  Then  he  stooped,  and  sa'd  confidentially  te 
Zoe,  pointing  to  Mrs.  Armstrong. 


MONT     CRYSTAL  406 

"  Don't  let  her  come  and  sit  by  me  again,  Zoe,  She  haa 
made  me  feel  cold  all  over,  and  made  my  eyes  dim.  And 
this  little  child,  Zoe,"  he  said,  laying  his  hand  on  the  head 
of  Louise,  "  this  poor  little  chilled  blue-pale  child,  she  must 
not  stay  near  her,  or  she  will  be  frost-bitten,  as  the  flowen 
are,  and  die  as  the  flowers  do." 

"  What  does  he  say  about  his  flowers  ?"  asked  MM. 
Armstrong,  now  approaching  the  table. 

"  He  says  they  will  be  frost-bitten,  if  exposed  to  the 
cold,"  answered  Zoe. 

The  old  man  shrunk  gently  away  at  the  lady's  approach, 
passed  around  the  table,  holding  by  it,  and  tottered  back  to 
his  seat. 

"  Have  you  engaged  this  girl  to  make  up  your  autumn 
dresses,  Lonise  ?" 

"  No  mamma ;  Zoe  has  as  much  work  as  she  can  do," 
replied  Lonise. 

"  Then  we  need  not  delay  our  return,"  said  Mrs.  Arm- 
strong. 

Lonise  arose  to  take  leave  of  Zoe,  and  found  an  oppor- 
tunity of  saying  to  her — 

"I  have  no  room,  not  a  nook  or  corner,  at  Mont 
Crystal,  for  my  private  use,  Zoe — I  share  my  mother's 
apartments ;  but  if  ever  I  should  get  back  to  The  Isle  of 
Rsys,  a  spare  room  there  shall  always  be  at  your  service, 
Zoe ;  and  in  the  meantime,  dear  Zoe,  I  shall  be  very  happy 
to  see  yon  at  Mont  Crystal,  if  you  can  take  any  pleasure  in 
seeing  me  always  in  the  company  of  others." 

They  then  took  leave  of  the  schoolmaster  and  left  the 
cottage. 

Remounting  their  horses,  and  followed  by  their  attendant, 
Mrs.  Armstrong  and  Louise  entered  the  bridle-path  leading 
through  the  glen  and  up  the  hill. 

This  path  was  very  narrow,  with  a  high  thick  wood  on 
both  sides.  They  rode  in  sinp'e  file — Mrs.  Armstrong  first, 


406  TMl     MOTBBB-IK-LAW. 

Loniie  next,  and  their  servant  behind.  The  lady  had  nearly 
reached  the  top  of  the  hill,  when  a  lady  acd  gentleman  on 
horseback,  appeared  suddenly  in  eight,  riding  down  the 
path,  meeting  them. 

It  was  Britannia,  in  high  beauty,  attired  in  an  elegant 
dark-bine  velvet  riding-habit  and  cap,  with  a  floating  white 
plume,  and  mounted  on  a  jet-black  horse.  She  was  fol- 
lowed by  Louis  Stuart-Gordon,  looking  pale  and  haggard, 
in  his  usual  dress  of  simple  black,  and  mounted  on  his  dark- 
bay  horse. 

There  was  no  avoiding  the  meeting  now.  Mrs.  Arm- 
strong and  her  party  paused  and  drew  aside  for  the  new 
comers  to  pass. 

Mrs.  Armstrong  drew  up  her  majestic  figure  to  its  loftiest 
height,  gathered  her  dark  brows  into  an  awful  frown,  and 
looked  sternly  and  straight  ahead. 

Louise  grew  deadly  pale,  dropped  her  head  upon  her 
bosom  and  her  eyes  upon  the  ground. 

Britannia  passed  first.  She  threw  a  glance  of  indigna- 
tion at  the  haughty  countenance  of  Mrs.  Armstrong,  and 
turned  a  look  full  of  pitying  affection  upon  the  pale  face  of 
Louise. 

Louis  came  next.  Lifting  his  cap  from  his  head,  and 
bowing  low  as  his  saddle,  he  held  it  thus  until  he  passed 
them.  They  rode  down  the  hill. 

With  a  frowning  brow  and  curling  lip,  Mrs.  Armstrong 
whipped  up  her  horse,  just  as  the  servant  sprang  before 
her  and  caught  Louise,  who  was  falling  from  her  saddle. 

"  Take  her  before  you  on  the  horse.  Take  her  before 
you  on  the  horse.  Fly  with  her  to  Mont  Crystal !  Quick, 
quick,  quick  I"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Armstrong,  who,  by  a  rapid 
glance,  had  perceived  that  Louis,  looking  back,  had  seen 
Louise  swoon,  and  waa  now  spurring  his  horse  rapidly  op 
the  hill  *oward  them. 


XOVT    OBT8TAL.  407 

Th«  man  raised  the  fainting  girl,  and  fled  with  her  to- 
ward Mont  Crystal. 

Lonis  Stuart-Gordon  overtook  Mrs.  Armstrong,  who, 
keeping  in  the  middle  of  the  path,  would  not  suffer  him  to 
pass  her. 

He  addressed  her  with  respectful  courtesy,  requesting  her 
to  gi?e  way,  that  he  might  ride  on  and  see  Louise. x 

Mrs  Armstrong  sat  straight  up  in  the  saddle,  looked 
•traight  on  before  her,  and  rode  leisurely,  without  replying. 

He  spoke  to  her  again,  earnestly,  and  inquired  after  the 
health  of  MB  wife. 

Mrs.  Armstrong  did  not  answer. 

He  argued  with  her,  entreated  her. 

Mr.  Armstrong  persevered  in  a  stern  silence,  until  they 
had  reached  the  gates  of  Mont  Crystal,  when,  turning  to 

m,  she  said— 

"  Sir,  my  daughter  is  in  fine  health  and  spirits.  You 
need  gire  yourself  no  impertinent  uneasiness  about  her." 

She  passed  the  gateg.  They  clanged  to  behind  her, 
tearing  Louis  reining  up  hit  horse  without. 

"  And  Louise  is  dying — slowly  dying  1  I  know  it !"  he 
exclaimed,  as  he  galloped  madly  back  to  The  Isle  of  Rays  I" 

The  waiter  who  went  to  snmrnon  Louis  to  breakfast  the 
next  morning  found  him  in  high  delirium. 

The  grief,  suspense,  anxiety  of  the  last  two  month*, 
acting  upon  a  singularly  delicate  and  susceptible  organisa- 
tion, had  now  bronght  a  crisis,  and  Louis  Stuart-Gordon 
wai  raring  in  a  brain -ft  rer. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

THE   SOLITARY. 

•  >— b*  mre  of  my  love — by  thy  treason  forgiren  ; 
LI  my  prayer*— by  the  blessings  they  win  thee  from  Heavm  I 
Of  my  ffritf—gnea*  the  length  of  the  sword  by  the  sheath's ; 
By  the  silence  of  life—more  pathetic  than  death's. 
Go— be  clear  of  that  day  t 

Eliz.  B.  Browning. 

"WELL,  Katel" 

"  Well,  madam,  I  went  to  the  bridge,  leading  from  tht 
rirer  shore  to  The  Isle  of  Ray?,  as  you  commanded  me, 
and  there  I  waited  until  old  Seraphina  passed,  as  I  ex 
pected." 

"  Go  on." 

"  Well,  madam,  as  you  told  me  to  find  out  all  I  could 
without  going  on  to  the  premises,  or  asking  questions,  I 
thought  there  was  no  other  way  of  discovering  what  was 
passing  at  the  mansion,  than  by  picking  a  quarrel  with  her; 
80  I  stooped  down,  and  pretended  to  be  looking  for  mani- 
nosies ;  placing  myself  directly  in  her  path  as  she  had  to  go 
by  me,  I  tripped  her  up — she  fell  upon  her  face — " 

"  Well  ?" 

"  She  scrambled  up,  with  her  nose  and  mouth  bleeding, 
foaming  with  fury,  and  swore — " 

"  Well,  well — go  on,  will  you — what  did  she  say  ?" 

"  She  said — '  If  you  and  your  missus  don't  go  to  de  debi 
A  don't  see  use  ob  habbin  any  debil  to  go  to  !  and  I  thinkg 
d«  Lord  might's  well  turn  hira  out  ob  office.' " 

"  Silence — insolent  1     I  do  not  ask  you  for  those  petty 
details.     In  one  word,  now,  what  did  you  learu  ?     What  to 
th«  state  of  Louis  Stnart-Gord  Vs  health  ?" 
(408) 


TMZ     SOLITABT.  409 

"  Madam,  Mr.  Stuart-Gordon  is  still  extremely  ill,  aad 
no  hopes  are  entertained  of  his  recovery." 

"  Hnmph  !  The  comfort  is,  that  Louise  and  her  child 
are  his  heirs — that  is,  if  the  latter  should  live  after.  I  am 
almost  sorry  now — one  can  never  tell  what  turns  affairs  are 
going  to  take,"  muttered  the  lady  to  herself 

"  Madam  ?" 

"  Hold  your  tongue.     I  am  not  talking  to  you." 

The  mulatto  clenched  her  teeth. 

"Well — this  other  story  about  the  woman  ?" 

"  About  Mrs.  Stuart-Gordon,  madam  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  It  is  all  true,  madam.  Seraph  told  me  so,  shaking  net 
fist  in  my  face,  in  triumph,  that  you  might  kill  Mr.  Louis, 
but  that  his  loss  might  be  replaced — that  an  heir  would  no4 
be  wanting  to  The  Isle  of  Rays." 

"Well?" 

''  I  tossed  my  head  and  told  her  certainly  not,  for  uwugb 
Mr.  Louis  might  die,  Mrs.  Louis  was — " 

"  Wretch  !  you  did  not  tell  her  that »" 

"  Pardon,  madam,  pardon  ;  but  conld  I  stand  there  and 
see  her  triumphing  over  me  ?" 

"  But  yon  told  her  a  lie — a  lie — that  you  are  to  contra- 
dict to-morrow.  Do  you  understand  me  ?"  asked  the  lady, 
fixing  her  severe  eyes  sternly  upon  her  attendant. 

"  Madam,  I  will  do  so ;  but  there  is  one  thing  I  should 
tell  you." 

"  Tell  it." 

"  The  morning  upon  which  Mrs.  Stuart  Gordon  and  Mr. 
Louis  encountered  yourself  and  Mrs.  Louis  upon  the  hill,  in 
returning  from  the  Dovecote,  it  seems  that  Mr.  Louis,  as 
well  as  Mrs.  Stuart-Gordon,  observed  Mrs.  Louis's  ill  looks, 
and  saw  her  faint ;  and  that  from  that  circumstance,  the 
family  at  The  Isle  of  Rays  have  inferred  that  Mrs.  Louis  ifl 
griaring  berielf  to  ieath  at  separation  from  her  husband. 


410  THE     MOTHIB-IN-LAW. 

Now,  madam,  I  wished  t<r  give  Mrs.  Louis's  delicate  ap. 
pearance  another  cause.  I  could  not  bear  to  have  them 
think  that  our  young  lady  ever  threw  away  a  thought  upon 
them.  Thus  I  had  two  motives  for  telling  the — " 

"Falsehood!"  finished  Mrs.  Armstrong,  with  a  deter- 
mined  look. 

"Yes,  madam;  of  course,  the  falsehood." 

"  And  thus  I  have  two  motives  for  compelling  Louise  to 
go  to  this  grand  ball :  first,  that  they  may  not  flatter  them- 
selves that  Louise  is  breaking  her  heart.  Ha,  ha,  ha ! 
They  will  no  longer  do  so  when  they  hear  of  her  dancing 
at  a  ball  while  her  husband  is  dying.  And  my  second 
motive  is,  that  the  story  told  by  this  stupid  Kate  may  be 
tacitly  contradicted,"  thought  the  lady ;  then  raising  her 
voice,  she  exclaimed — 

"  Kate." 

"Well,  madam." 

"My  daughter,  as  yet,  knows  nothing  of  the  illness  ot 
Mr.  Stuart-Gordon,  nor  will  I  have  her  mind  disturbed  bj 
it.  Therefore,  be  silent  upon  that  subject,  in  her  pres- 
ence." 

"Yes,  madam." 

"To-morrow,  contradict  that  story  yon  told  the  old 
gossip  ;  and  be  sure  to  tell  her  that  Mrs.  Louis  is  well  and 
cheerful,  and  will  attend,  as  usual  the  annual  ball  at  the 
Prince's  school." 

"Yes,  madam;  I  understand." 

"  You  are  not  to  say  that  Mrs.  Louis  is  ignorant  of  Mr. 
Locis's  illness." 

"Oh,  no,  madam — by  no  means!     Of  course  not." 

*  I  think  now  that  you  perfectly  comprehend  me  ?" 

"  Perfectly,  madam. " 

"  Kate,  I  have  promised  to  leave  you  free.  If  you  will 
deserve  it  at  my  hands,  I  will  leave  you  comfortably  pro- 
vided for  If  yon  do  not  merit  this  ••••" 


ffHK     SJLITABST.  411 

"Qwrgjl" 

"Exactly." 

la  the  early  part  of  this  true  story,  I  had  occasion  to 
mention  a  collegiate  school  at  Peakville,  called  the  Prince 
of  Wales  Academy,  and  sometimes,  for  brevity,  the  Prince's 
School.  This  was  a  sort  of  smaller  college,  consisting  of 
a  president,  four  to  six  professors,  and  five  or  six  hundred 
pupils,  collected  from  all  parts  of  the  South.  The  presi- 
ident  and  professors  of  this  Academy  were  mostly  from 
New  England,  but  the  greater  part  of  the  pupils  were  from 
the  Southern  States.  Such  of  these  professors  as  were 
unmarried  lived  at  the  Academy,  but  those  who  had  fami- 
lies occupied  private  dwellings  in  the  village.  Many  of  the 
pupils  boarded  at  the  Academy,  some  with  the  families  of  the 
professors,  and  a  few  with  private  families  in  the  village  or 
neighborhood.  The  ages  of  these  young  men  ranged  from 
fourteen  to  twenty-five  years,  and  their  character  as  a  class 
ranked  high — nay,  "a  student  of  the  Prince  of  Wales 
Academy  "  was  another  name  for  integrity,  honor,  gener- 
osity, gallantry,  chivalry,  magnanimity — in  short,  in  that 
neighborhood,  "  a  student"  was  a  compendium  of  all  the 
social  and  chivalric  virtues.  In  that  respect,  the  Prince 
of  Wales  Academy  was  different — yes  I  diametrically  oppo- 
site to  any  school  or  college  I  ever  heard  of,  before  or  since. 
I  do  not  know  how  it  was,  but  so  it  was.  The  first  two 
weeks  of  every  December  they  held  an  annual  festival,  at 
the  close  of  which  the  school  broke  up  for  the  Christmas 
holidays.  This  festival,  for  its  variety  of  delightful  enter- 
tainments, its  gayety,  and  its  continued  length,  might  be 
called  a  carnival.  The  parents  and  guardians  of  the  pupils 
came  even  for  hundreds  of  miles  to  be  present  on  the  occa- 
sion, and  remained  until  the  close  of  the  ceremonies.  Let 
this  be  made  known  for  the  credit  of  hospitable  "  Old  Vir- 
ginia/- that,  wherever  the  pupils  boarded,  the  parents  ot 
guardians  weri  received  and  entertained  during  their  stay 


412  TUB     MOTMl*-Ijr-LAW. 

M  gniMfe,  The  Tillage  and  neighborhood  of  the  Price* 
of  Wales  Academy  would  be  as  much  crowded  as  a  fash- 
ionable watering-place  at  the  height  of  the  season,  or  aa 
Washington  city  during  the  long  session  of  Congress. 
During  the  first  week  of  the  "carnival,"  (I  prefer  t>  bor- 
row that  term,)  the  days  were  spent  in  examinations  of  all 
the  pnpils  through  all  their  studies.  This  was  a  great 
solemnity,  carried  on  by  the  professors  in  the  presence  of 
the  hundreds  assembled  in  the  chapel  of  the  institution. 
The  evenings  were  spent  in  exhibitions,  recitations,  decla- 
mations, theatricals,  etc. ;  and  there  was  no  telling  how 
many  enthusiastic  boys  become  stage-struck,  or  fired  with 
desires  to  become  orators,  actors,  or  preachers,  or  how 
many  sensitive  girls  lost  their  hearts  when  gazing  upon 
some  handsome  young  aspirant  for  histrionic  or  oratorical 
honors  while  spouting  Shakspeare  or  Sheridan !  The 
•econd  week,  the  first  three  days  were  devoted  to  the  dis- 
tribution of  the  premiums,  and  the  last  four  to  public  break- 
fasts, great  dinners,  suppers,  and  dancing  parties.  The 
grand  ball  was  always  given  upon  the  last  day  of  the  fes- 
tival, and  followed  by  a  public  breakfast  the  next  morning, 
after  which  the  company  dispersed,  the  students  returning 
with  their  friends  to  spend  the  holidays,  and  the  people  of 
the  neighborhood  going  quietly  home  to  keep  Christmas 
on  their  own  farms.  The  season  of  the  annual  festival  now 
approached.  It  was  the  1st  of  December.  Already  the 
village  and  neighborhood  were  filling  with  strangers,  and 
the  solemnities  of  the  examination  had  commenced.  The 
family  at  Mont  Crystal  and  at  The  Isle  of  Rays  had  re- 
ceived tickets  of  invitation.  Of  course,  the  Stuart- Gordons 
decided  not  to  appear  in  public  at  such  a  time  and  under 
•nch  circumstances. 

Mrs.  Armstrong  resolved  to  confront  the  world,  as  well 
to  mortify  the  Island  family  as  to  show  her  haughty  defiance 
of  public  sentiment.  Mrs  Armstrong  signified  he?  wishes 


TXB     SOLITAKT.  411 

to  IMT  daughter.  At  first  Louise  was  surprised  and  dis- 
tressed at  the  proposition,  or  rather  the  command,  but  soon 
reflecting  that  she  might  meet  Louis  there — that  there  he 
had  been  educated — that  there  he  had  always  appeared — 
and  that  there  he  would  almost  certainly  be, — Louise  cheer- 
fully consented  to  go. 

The  evening  of  the  ball  came.  Louise  was  dressed  with 
great  care.  She  wore  a  white  gauze  over  a  rose-colored 
satin,  with  open  and  falling  sleeves.  Her  fair  arms  and 
neck  were  bare,  and  adorned  with  pearl  necklace  and  brace- 
lets. Her  hair  was  arranged  in  madonna  bands,  and  encir- 
cled by  a  wreath  of  white  roses.  White  kid  gloves  and 
white  satin  slippers  completed  her  toilet.  These  two  deli- 
cate colors,  rose  and  white,  suited  the  fair  and  soft  beauty 
of  the  young  woman,  and  never  had  Louise  appeared  so 
lovely. 

Mrs.  Armstrong  wore  a  garnet-colored  velvet — her  still 
rich  black  hair  banded  on  her  temples,  and  surmounted  by 
a  white  gauze  turban  adorned  with  a  bird  of  Paradise. 

At  eight  o'clock  precisely,  they  entered  the  carriage,  at 
tended  by  Kate  Jumper,  and  were  driven  to  the  Prince  of 
Wales  Academy. 

The  halls,  saloons,  and  lecture  rooms  of  the  Academy 
were  converted  into  dancing,  card,  and  supper  rooms.  The 
•tudies  of  the  grave  professors  were  metamorphosed  into 
ladies'  and  gentlemen's  dressing-rooms.  The  president 
himself  was  master  of  ceremonies,  the  masters  were  mana- 
gers of  the  ball,  and  the  most  elegant  of  the  young  men 
stood  in  crowds  at  the  doors,  and  out  upon  the  piazzas,  to 
wait  on  the  young  ladies  as  they  were  driven  up  in  theii 
carriages. 

These  things  belong  to  the  past,  they  have  gone  out  of 
fashion  along  with  ruffled  shirts,  knee  breeches,  bncklss, 
hooped  petticoats,  plumes,  and  farthingales — gone  out  of 
fashion,  yet  not  quite.  Some  of  this  old-school,  chivalria 


414  TXB     MOTHEB-IN-LAW. 

gallantry  may  be  found  in  the  interior  and  older  counties 
of  Maryland  and  Virginia.  We  digress. 

It  took  Mrs.  Armstrong's  carriage  just  two  hoars  to 
reach  the  Prince's  School.  It  was  consequently  ten  o'clock 
when  the  carriage  drew  up  before  the  vast  illuminated  front 
of  the  building.  A  crowd  of  carriages  filled  the  court-yard 
—a  crowd  of  young  men  waited  on  the  piazzas — a  flood  of 
light  blazed  from  the  hundred  front  windows — and  thun- 
ders of  music  shook  the  air.  Mrs.  Armstrong's  carriage, 
winding  its  way  among  the  crowd,  pulled  up  close  by  the 
steps  of  the  piazza,  immediately  in  front  of  the  principal 
entrance. 

Several  young  men  started  forward  to  open  the  door  and 
let  down  the  steps  ;  but,  on  recognizing  the  carriage,  drew 
back,  some  with  frowning  brows  and  scornful  lips — some 
with  flushed  cheeks  and  downcast  eyes.  Not  one  advanced 
even  to  hand  the  ladies  from  the  carriage.  The  coachman — 
an  unprecedented  thing  in  that  neighborhood — had  to  get 
down  from  his  seat  to  assist  the  ladies  in  alighting.  Arro- 
gant as  she  was,  Mrs.  Armstrong's  brow  crimsoned  as  she 
gave  her  hand  to  her  coachman  and  alighted,  to  see  a  crowd 
of  youths  standing  still,  with  averted  or  downcast  eyes,  any 
of  whom,  six  months  ago,  would  have  felt  but  too  highly 
honored  in  rendering  her  family  the  slightest  attention. 
Throwing  a  sweeping  glance  of  scorn  over  the  assemblage, 
and  gathering  the  ample  folds  of  her  velvet  mantle  around 
her,  she  threw  back  her  head,  and  passed  on  with  a  haughty 
and  regnant  step. 

Louise  dropped  her  eyes  as  she  appeared  at  the  carriage 
door.  Then  a  young  man  advanced  from  among  the  crowd, 
and  held  out  his  hand  to  assist  her  in  alighting.  Louise 
just  raised  her  eyes  an  instant  to  the  pale  and  haggard  face, 
and  lightly  touched  the  cold  and  emaciated  hand  extended 
to  assist  her,  as  she  sprang  lightly  past  and  joined  her 
mother  T^en  1  irning  her  head  to  look  again  at  the  gea- 


TB1     SOLITABY.  415 

fleraea  who  had  assisted  her,  she  uttered  a  half-stifled  cry, 
full  of  bitterest  anguish,  and  fell  fainting  into  the  arms  of 
her  mother. 

The  coachman  sprang  forward  at  Mrs.  Armstrong's  call, 
and  receiving  Louise  from  her  arms,  bore  her  it.to  the 
bouse,  followed  by  the  lady,  and  carried  her  up  stairs  into 
cne  of  the  ladies'  dressing  rooms.  She  was  laid  on  the 
settee.  Several  ladies — some  of  them  strangers  from  differ- 
ent parts  of  the  State — hurried  to  her  aid ;  but  Mrs.  Arm- 
strong coldly  declined  their  proffers  of  assistance,  and  dis- 
patched the  coachman  to  hasten  the  arrival  of  her  own  con- 
fidential attendant,  Kate.  The  mulatto  soon  entered,  and 
with  her  help,  Louise  soon  opened  her  eyes. 

"  Oh,  mamma,  was  he  living  or  dead  ?"  were  the  first 
words  faltered  forth  by  the  blue  lips  of  Louise. 

"Collect,  yourself,  my  daughter." 

"  But  on,  mamma,  that — that  spectre  was  Louis !" 

"Go  down  stairs,  Kate,  and  bring  me  a  glass  of  wine," 
said  the  lady,  still  bathing  the  head  of  Louise. 

"  Oh,  mother,  to  meet  Louis  so  again — again  1  So 
changed  I  did  not  recognize  him  at  first — so  changed  1  Oh, 
mother,  when  we  met  him  on  the  hill,  and  he  passed  me 
with  a  gentlemanly  bow — bowing  to  the  pommel  of  his  sad- 
dle— holding  his  hat  off  till  he  passed  me. — me,  his  wife,  his 
own  Louise — I  thought  the  spasm  of  my  heart  had  killed 
me  !  But  now — but  now — to  meet  him  again  so  unexpect- 
edly ;  to  have  him  bow  and  coldly  hand  me  from  the  car- 
riage— me,  his  own  Louise — for  charity,  mother,  because 
no  one  else  would  do  it ;  to  see  him  looking  so  ill ;  to 
merely  touch  his  hand  as  I  sprang  past  him — that  emaciated 
hand — which,  had  I  recognized  it,  I  should  have  covered 
with  tears." 

"  You  are  excited,  frenzied,  Louise  ;  here,  drink  some 
sold  water." 

"  Wow  long  doe*  t  take  a  heart  \  >  break,  mother  7 — hoi» 


414  TMl     MOTHJSB-IN-LAW. 

kmg  7  Oh,  it  is  such  a  alow — slow — slow  deatk.  I  betweei 
the  pangs  there  are  so  many  intervals  of  ease,  or  forgetful- 
•eta,  or  idiocy  !n 

The  dressing-room  was  now  quite  deserted,  the  ladiei 
haring  all  completed  their  toilets,  and  gone  down  into  the 
ball  room. 

Weeping  and  talking  will  generally  exhaust  a  fit  of  grief, 
leaving  a  sort  of  weary  calmness.  Cold  water  is  a  great 
sedative.  Under  all  these  influences,  Louise,  after  a  little, 
became  quiet. 

At  this  moment,  Kate  entered  with  a  glass  of  wine. 

"  It  will  not  do,"  said  the  lady  ;  "  besides,  I  have  changed 
my  mind  about  giving  it  to  her,  for,  though  wine  may  raise 
the  spirits  of  a  dull  person,  it  will  make  the  grief  of  a  sor- 
rowing one  too  eloquent.  No,  if  you  please,  bring  her  a 
cup  of  very  strong  coffee ;  there  is  no  mistake  in  the  effects 
of  that" 

Kate  again  left  the  room.  Mrs.  Armstrong  bolted  the 
door  ;  and  then  assisting  her  daughter  to  stand  up,  she  ar- 
ranged the  folds  of  her  dress,  smoothed  her  hair,  replaced 
her  wreath,  and  going  to  one  of  the  dressing-tables,  took  a 
pot  of  rouge  left  there  by  one  of  the  ladies,  and  delicately 
touched  the  lily  cheeks  of  her  daughter.  Then  she  made 
her  sit  down  and  wait  for  the  coffee,  while  she  went  herself 
and  unfastened  the  door.  Kate  soon  after  returned  with  the 
fragrant  stimulant,  and  noticing  her  young  lady,  the  unsus- 
pecting woman  exclaimed,  "  Why,  I  do  declare  she  is  better, 
madam.  She  looks  better  than  I  have  seen  her  for  a  long 
time.  Her  cheeks  are  as  red  as  roses.  Indeed,  she  is  quite 
beautiful  I" 

Louise  drank  the  coffee — a  large  cup  of  very  strong  cof- 
fee— and  then  rising,  took  her  mother's  arm  and  they  went 
down  stairs. 

It  if  a  very  awkward  thing  in  Qii»  country  for  ladies  to  en- 
t«r  public  assemblies  withc-it  the  escort  of  gentlemen.  Mm 


TMK     SOLITARY.  41? 

Armstrong  had  frequently  preferred  to  go  to  such  places 
attended  ouly  by  her  servants,  bat  she  had  always  found 
upon  the  spot  many  gentlemen  who  were  proud  to  rendei 
her  service. 

Now,  howerer,  remembering  the  coldness  of  her  reception 
at  the  door,  she  had  many  misgivings  that  herself  and  her 
daughter  would  be  obliged  to  enter  and  pass  down  the  ball- 
room unattended.  That  would  be  mortifying  1  She  had 
expected  to  have  to  defy  public  sentiment,  but  not  to  en- 
counter public  scorn  and  indignity.  However,  there  was  no 
retreat  now.  She  drew  the  arm  of  her  daughter  within  her 
own,  elevated  her  haughty  head,  and  prepared  to  enter  the 
saloon  with  a  majestic  mien.  The  room  was  blazing  with 
light,  and  thundering  with  music,  and  filled  to  suffocation 
nearly,  with  splendid  company.  As  she  sailed  haughtily 
into  the  room,  Louis  Stuart-Gordon  advanced  from  the  side 
of  the  door  where  he  had  apparently  waited  their  entree,  and, 
bowing,  took  his  place  on  the  other  side  of  Louise,  walked 
by  her  side  down  the  whole  length  of  the  room,  saw  them 
seated,  and  then  with  a  second  and  a  deeper  bow,  he  left  them. 
All  this  passed  without  a  word  said  on  either  hand.  Mrs 
Armstrong  had  never  deigned  to  acknowledge  his  presence, 
even  by  a  look.  Louise  had  been  silent  because  the  eyes  of 
the  whole  company  were  on  them,  and,  perhaps  because  she 
waited  for  Louis  to  address  her,  or  that  she  feared  her 
mother,  or  had  lost  for  the  time  the  power  of  speech — who 
eould  tell?  Mrs.  Armstrong  and  her  daughter  had  no 
sooner  seated  themselves  than  the  effects  of  the  coffee,  as- 
sisted by  the  glare  of  lights,  the  sound  of  music,  the  brilliant 
company  began  to  show  itself  in  the  appearance  of  Louise, 
Between  the  effects  of  the  rouge,  the  stimulant  and  the 
scene,  her  complexion  had  assumed  a  beautiful,  but  always 
delicate  glow ;  her  eye,  a  strange,  Clear  brilliancy ;  and  her 
expression  and  manners,  a  fascinating  gayety,  that  no  one 


418  THB     MOTHER-IN-LAW 

who  had  not  known  her  before  could  have  supposed  mm* 
taral ;  that  no  one  who  had  no*,  witnessed  the  events  of  th« 
last  hour  could  have  supposed  feverish — nearly  delirious  f 
Her  sparkling  gayety  soon  drew  around  her  a  circle  of  young 
men  who  were  either  not  so  particular  as  those  upon  the 
piazza,  or  else  having  seen  her  attended  by  her  husband, 
drew  the  most  favorable  inferences.  Louise  had  never  been 
witty  before,  but  now  repartee,  quick  and  brilliant  as  light- 
ning, flashed  from  her  glowing  lips.  She  bewitched  the 
cir>le  around  her;  still  not  one  among  the  youth  took  her  out 
to  dance,  until,  at  last,  a  young  gentleman  from  a  distant  coun- 
ty, looking  at  her  from  across  the  room,  seeing  her  surrounded, 
and  believing  her  to  be  some  celebrated  belle — as,  unmar- 
ried, she  would  have  been — and  wishing  a  presentation  to  her, 
went  up  to  one  of  the  managers  and  requested  an  introduction. 
The  manager  immediately  took  him  up,  and  begged  leave 
"  to  present  Captain  Fairfax,  of  Jefferson  county,  to  Mrs. 
Stuart-Gordon." 

"Oh  1  a  youthful  widow,"  thought  the  Captain,  and  mak- 
ing a  graceful  bow,  he  begged  the  honor  of  Mrs.  Stuart- 
Gordon's  hand  in  the  set  that  was  forming.  At  a  sign  from 
her  mother,  Louise  arose,  gave  him  her  hand,  and  was  led 
to  the  head  of  a  quadrille. 

"  My  daughter  is  in  high  beauty — in  fine  spirits — greatly 
admired — she  will  dance.  We  will  see  whether  those  Island 
people  shall  please  themselves  with  the  idea  that  her  heart  is 
breaking,"  exclaimed  the  lady,  in  a  low  voice,  as  she  gazed 
in  triumph  upon  Louise  upon  the  arm  of  Captain  Fairfax- 
Captain  Fairfax  being  the  lion  of  the  evening  1  Soon  her 
triumph  was  turned  to  humiliation.  Captain  Fairfax  had  led 
his  beautiful  partner  off  to  the  head  of  the  set,  admiring  her 
•with  enthusiasm,  wondering  what  the  young  gentlemen  could 
have  been  thinking  of,  not  to  have  secured  the  honor  he  waa 
now  enjoying,  and  heartily  congratulating  himself  upon  his 
gingular  goo  1  fortune.  He  perceived  that  all  eyes  were 


THE     SOLITARY.  419 

tamed  upon  himself  and  partner,  he  heard  all  lips  whispef 
about  them,  and  he  flushed  with  gratified  vanity,  for  he  ver- 
fly  thought  it  was  in  admiration  of  his  partner  and  envy  of 
himself.  It  was  not  until  one  or  two  ladies  had  retired  from 
the  set,  that  was  not  yet  completely  formed,  that  he  began 
to  perceive  that  the  unusual  buzz  was  one  of  surprise  and 
disapprobation.  Now  the  light  broke  on  him,  and  he  un- 
derstood that  he  had  committed  himself  in  some  ridiculous 
way.  The  perspiration  started  from  his  brow.  There  are 
some  vain  men  who  would  rather  commit  a  crime  than  a,  faux 
pas.  He  was  one  of  them.  Wiping  his  brow,  he  turned  to 
his  partner  ana  said — 

"  The  room  is  very  close — crowded — Mrs.  Stuart-Gordon, 
had  we  not  better  sit  down  ?" 

Louise  raised  her  eyes  steadily  to  his  face,  and  said,  with 
a  strange  smile,  "Oh,  sir !  I  am  a  very  small  woman — con- 
sume but  little  air — fill  but  little  space ;  is  it  not  strange, 
then,  that  as  soon  as  I  appear,  the  atmosphere  should  grow 
BO  close — the  set  be  found  so  crowded  ?" 

Captain  Fairfax  only  replied  by  a  grave  bow,  as  he  led 
her  back  to  her  seat.  The  artificial  gayety  of  Louise  was 
over  for  that  evening.  Defeated,  mortified,  and  enraged, 
Mrs  Armstrong  soon  arose  to  retire  from  the  saloon. 
Again  Lonis  Stuart-Gordon  suddenly  appeared,  and  walk- 
ing by  the  side  of  Louise,  attended  them  from  the  room, 
waited  for  them  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  and  when  they 
came  down  cloaked  and  bonneted,  still  walking  by  the  side 
of  Louise,  he  attended  them  to  the  carriage.  Mrs.  Arm- 
strong drew  herself  up  haughtily  on  one  side.  Louis  handed 
his  wife  in  saying,  as  he  pressed  her  hand — 

"  Do  not  appear  in  public  again,  Louise,"  and  retired. 

"Oh!  I  will  not,  I  will  not!"  replied  Louise,  sinking, 
sobbing  in  one  corner  of  the  carriage. 

Mrs.  Armstrong  could  have  strangled  him  on  the  spot. 
Repealing  his  proffered  assistance  wi^.h  a  haughty  gesture,  •&• 


£0  THE     XOTHEB-IN-LAW. 

•tepped  proudly  into  her  carriage,  which  was  immediately 
driven  off.  The  darkness  of  the  winter's  night,  the  dark- 
ness  of  the  carriage  prevented  Mrs.  Armstrong  from  seeing 
the  face  of  Louise.  She  heard  her  stifled  and  convulsive 
•obbiug,  but  feeling  disinclined  to  converse,  she  was  silent 
during  the  whole  drive.  Arrived  at  Mont  Crystal,  they 
alighted.  She  drew  the  arm  of  Louise  through  her  own, 
and  led  her  up  into  their  sleeping  apartment.  It  was  now 
between  three  and  four  o'clock  in  the  morning.  The  room 
was  well  warmed  and  lighted,  and  every  way  comfortably 
prepared  for  their  reception.  Mrs.  Armstrong  threw  her- 
self into  an  easy-chair  by  the  fire,  and  called  Kate  to  assist 
her  in  undressing.  Without  removing  any  of  her  clothes, 
Louise  paced  in  a  nervous  and  excited  manner  up  and 
down  the  floor. 

"  Come  to  the  fire  and  war  i  yourself,  my  daughter," 
said  the  lady. 

"  No,  no  ;  I  am  not  cold." 

"Undress  and  retire  to  rest,  then,  my  dear." 

" I  cannot — I  cannot  1     I  cannot  rest  anywhere." 

Mrs.  Armstrong  now  turned  around  in  her  chair,  and 
noticed  the  frightful  pallor  of  her  daughter's  countenance  as 
she  walked  wildly  up  and  down  the  floor,  wringing  her 
hands. 

"Louise,  sit  down  and  compose  yourself — I  insist  upon 
it." 

Still  Louise,  with  pallid  brow  and  bloodshot  eyes,  paced 
distractedly  up  and  down  the  floor. 

"  Kate,  leave  me  1  I  can  undress  myself.  Go  and  pre- 
pare your  young  lady  for  bed." 

Kate  left  her  mistress,  and  weLt  to  Louise.  She  turned 
away  from  her,  wildly  exclaiming — 

"  No,  no  I — no,  no  1  I  cannot !  I  will  neither  sleep  nor 
•at,  until  I  hare  rejoined  Louis. " 

"  What  doei  she  say  ?"  exclaimed  Mrs  Armstrong,  riling 


IMft     SOLITARY. 

to  her  feet,  and  gazing  in  astonishment  upon  the 
ezdted  girl.     "  What  does  she  say  ?" 

"  I  lay,  mother  1"  exclaimed  the  half-delirious  girl,  walk- 
ing rapidly  up  to  the  lady,  and  standing  before  her  with  her 
thin  hands  writhing  together,  and  her  haggard  eyes  strained 
hah*  out  of  her  head — "  I  say,  mother,  that  this  separation 
ia  cruel,  monstrous,  insupportable  !  It  is  killing  me — thai 
is  of  no  consequence ;  but  it  is  killing  Louis  too — that  no- 
ble Louis,  whose  only  weakness  is  to  love  a  weak  and  worth- 
less fool  like  I  am  !  I  say,  mother,  that  Louis  is  so  noble 
— so  generous — so  magnanimous !  I  say,  I  love  aud  ad- 
mire him  more  and  more  every  day  I  live !  I  say,  I  do  no.. 
believe  one — no,  not  one  of  the  base  calumnies  that  you  have 
heard  of  him — and  from  my  heart,  I  beg  his  pardon  for  a 
moment's  doubt  of  his  immaculate  honor  !  I  say,  mother, 
that  no  one  can  look  upon  his  face,  hear  his  voice,  and  doubt 
his  probity ;  and  I  say,  mother,  that  I  must,  must  rejoin 
Louis,  if  indeed  he  will  forgive  and  receive  me  again. 
Must !  mother,  do  yon  hear  me.  Oh,  I  have  treated  him 
shamefully,  and  he  has  behaved  like  an  angel  to  me.  Yes, 
you  may  curse  me,  mother,  as  yon  have  often  threatened. 
You  may  kill  me ;  but  I  will  not  eat,  drink,  or  sleep,  until 
\  have  sought  the  feet  of  Louis,  and  obtained  his  forgive- 
ness!" 

"  Oh,  she  is  crazy,  frantic,"  exclaimed  the  lady,  taking 
the  hands  of  Louise,  and  forcing  her  into  a  chair.  "  Un- 
hook her  dress,  Kate,  and  then  go  and  get  me  some  opium. 
She  is  nervous,  hysterical,  delirious." 

And  BO  she  was.  Mrs.  Armstrong  heard  all  her  raving 
without  alarm,  confident  in  her  own  confirmed  power  over 
her  daughter,  and  knowing  full  well  that  when  all  this  ner- 
TOU  excitement  was  over,  she  would  relapse  into  a  state  of 
more  complete  feebleness  than  before.  And  she  judged 
rightly.  Louise  fell  asleep  under  the  influence  of  the 
•piate,  and  slep  till  a  late  hour  the  next  day ;  thta  ihf 
20 


422  THE     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

awoke,  feeble  in  body  and  mind,  depressed  in  spirit*  TV 
king  advantage  of  this  mental  and  physical  exhaustion, 
Mrs.  Armstrong  sat  down  by  the  bedside  of  Louise,  and 
gravely  charged  her  with  discreditable  levity  at  the  ball—- 
with gross  irreverence  to  herself,  and  violent  and  unlady- 
like conduct  in  presence  of  the  servants — repeating  all  the 
most  objectionable  things  that  poor  Louise,  in  her  nervoui 
delirium,  had  said  and  done. 

Louise  listened  without  attempting  to  defend  herself,  and 
after  talking  with  her  for  an  hour,  Mrs.  Armstrong  left  her 
with  her  ideas  of  right  and  wrong  again  all  confused — hef 
confidence  in  herself  destroyed,  and  her  will  and  fate  alto- 
gether in  her  mother's  power. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

MARGARET. 

Tls  dawn — within  a  curtained  room, 
Pilled  to  faintuees  with  perfume, 
A  lady  lies  at  point  of  doom. 

Tin  morn — a  child  hath  seen  the  light 

Bat  for  the  lady,  fair  and  bright, 

She  sorrow*  in  a  rayletss  night. — Anon 

SEVERAL  months  passed  away,  and  winter  gave  place  to 
spring.  Again  the  scenery  in  the  neighborhood  of  Mont 
Crystal  bloomed  out  in  the  perfect  glory  of  beauty.  Again 
The  Isle  of  Rays  seemed  a  terrestrial  paradise.  But  still 
Louise  faded  in  the  light  of  Mont  Crystal — still  Louis  with- 
ered in  the  sunshine  of  The  Isle  of  Rays.  Will  it  be  :redited 
that  these  two  young  people,  fondly  attached  to  each  other, 
placing  implicit  faith  in  each  other,  united  by  the  holiest  tie, 
M  they  had  been,  were  still  kept  separated  by  the  in?  placable 


MARGARET.  43  f 

irill  of  one  determined  woman  ?  The  neighborhood  had 
exhausted  conjecture  as  to  the  cause  of  the  separation. 
Some  said  that  Mrs.  Armstrong  was  incensed  at  the  mar- 
riage  of  the  General ;  some  said  that  a  prior  attachment  had 
been  discovered  to  have  existed  between  Louis  and  Susan 
Somerville;  some  thought  it  was  from  a  dissatisfaction  about 
the  settlement  of  the  property.  As  usual,  there  weixi  a  few 
grains  of  truth  mixed  up  with  much  falsehood.  At  last, 
however,  the  facts  of  the  case  crept  out,  and  it  was  gene- 
rally known  that  this  state  of  affairs  existed  by  the  simple 
will  of  the  mother-in-law;  and  then  the  whole  party  on  both 
sides  was  condemned  by  public  sentiment ;  for  although  the 
weight  of  public  censure  fell  heavily  upon  Mrs.  Armstrong 
and  her  daughter,  yet  the  family  at  The  Isle  of  Rays  did  not 
escape  the  charge  of  weakness.  I  have  often  heard  the  con- 
duct of  Louise  and  Louis  both  arraigned  and  judged  with 
great  severity,  and  as  I  think  with  gross  injustice.  The 
full  force  of  public  reprobation  fell  most  heavily  of  all  upon 
Louise.  In  this  she  was  cruelly  wronged.  No  one  con- 
sidered her  extreme  youth,  her  natural  weakness  of  will  and 
gentleness  of  temper,  and  the  almost  omnipotent  sway  of 
her  mother  over  her — nor  her  peculiar  education,  taught, 
as  she  had  been,  filial  obedience  as  a  religion,  ready  as  she 
was  to  sacrifice  to  that  filial  sentiment  her  heart's  most  na- 
tural instincts  and  warmest  affections — nor  her  physical 
delicacy  of  organization,  through  which  she  would  have 
perished  in  any  violent  conflict.  No  one  considered  these 
things  but  Louis  Stuart-Gordon,  who  for  her  peace  denied 
himself  the  society  of  his  wife,  refrained  from  opposing  the 
influence  of  Mrs.  Armstrong,  or  importuning  Louise — thai 
exposing  himself  to  the  animadversions  of  a  neighborhood 
incapable  of  understanding  his  motives  of  action.  I  have 
heard  Louis  called  weak,  timid.  Nothing  could  be  more 
stupid  or  unjust  than  this  opinion.  Of  a  high-toned  sense 
of  honor,  of  fine  •oaoeptibilities,  of  warm  temperament, 


434  THl     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

Louis  Stuart-Gordon  yet  suffered  this  long  estrangement 
from  a  young  and  lovely  wife,  to  whom  he  was  fondly  at- 
tached, and  braved  the  scorn  of  society,  rather  than  give  her 
pain  by  a  conflict  with  her  unscrupulous  mother.  Louis 
was  brave  to  defy  and  strong  to  endure  suffering  in  his  own 
person  and  reputation.  Louis  was  not  weak  or  timid,  ex- 
cept in  giving  pain  or  causing  misery  to  others.  No  1  I 
have  always  wished  to  vindicate  the  motives  of  Louis,  whose 
loTely  character  approached  the  angelic. 

Four  months  had  passed  away  since  the  ball  of  the 
Prince's  School.  Every  letter  written  from  The  Isle  of 
Kays  to  Mont  Crystal  had  been  cast  into  the  fire  without 
being  read.  As  has  been  said,  Louis  had  at  last  ceased  to 
importune  them  with  letters.  Many  times  indeed  poor 
Louise  had  rebelled,  as  on  the  evening  of  the  ball ;  but  it 
was  always  under  nervous  excitement,  which,  subsiding,  left 
her  weaker  and  more  enslaved  than  before.  They  were 
mere  spasms  of  courage  and  resolution,  ending  in  apathy — 
abortive  struggles  of  her  feeble  will,  always  to  be  repented 
of  and  atoned  for  as  sin. 

It  was  early  in  April  that  Louise,  then  little  over  seven- 
teen years  old,  became  the  mother  of  a  little  girl — a  fine, 
hearty  child,  of  firm  muscle,  brilliant  eyes,  and  strong  lunge 
—who  persisted  in  living,  despite  all  Mrs.  Armstrong's  dia- 
bolical machinations  to  the  contrary.  Let  us  be  exactly 
'just.  Under  existing  circumstances,  the  expected  maternity 
of  her  daughter  had  been  a  source  of  great  grief  and  mor- 
tification to  Mrs.  Armstrong — so  much  so  that  the  fact  had 
been  kept  a  profound  secret  in  the  neighborhood,  up  to  the 
Tory  day  that  the  babe  was  born.  Nevertheless,  now,  that 
the  infant  was  laid  living  on  her  lap,  she  no  longer  wished 
to  tmether  it  By  a  law  of  nature,  acting  unexpectedly 
vpoa  a  heart  like  hen,  she  felt  the  appeal  of  this  helpless 
And  beautiful  being,  (young  babies  are  all  beautiful,  mai« 
•pinion  to  the  ecatrmry  notwithstanding,)  and  Mn.  Ana- 


426 

strong  wu  *urprised  to  find  in  her  own  heart  a  possibility 
of  loving  this  child.  This  sentiment,  however,  instead  of 
softening  her  heart  toward  its  father,  only  gave  additional 
force  to  her  jealousy  of  Lonis,  as  she  wondered  whether  he 
might  not  wish  to  deprive  her  of  the  care  of  the  babe.  The 
reader  had  already  seen  that  the  maternal  instincts  were 
•trong  as  they  were  selfish  in  Mrs.  Armstrong. 

11 A  boon,  mamma,  a  boon !"  cried  Lonise,  a  few  mo» 
mente  after  the  birth  of  her  child,  still  pale  and  palpitating 
with  her  recent  agony ;  "  a  boon,  a  boon  !" 

"  Well,  well,  my  daughter,  what  is  it  ?"  inquired  the  lady, 
disturbed  with  the  fear  that  Louise  was  about  to  make  some 
request  of  which  Louis  Stuart-Gordon  might  be  the  object. 

"  This,  mamma  ;  that  I  may  name  this  little  girl  myself." 

"  Certainly,  Lonise  ;  certainly,  my  daughter  ;  that  is  the 
one  thing  with  which  I  will  not  interfere — a  mother's  con- 
trol over  her  own  child,"  said  the  astute  woman,  aduing 
mentally,  "she  cannot  name  her  Louis,  or  Henry  Cart- 
wright  ;  she  will  not  call  her  Britannia,  and  ai.y  other  n^me 
is  indifferent  to  me.  Yes,  Louise,"  she  repeated  tikud, 
"  that  is  the  one  thing  in  which  I  will  not  seek  tc  control 
you — your  disposal  of  your  own  child." 

"  She  is  all  mine,  then,  mother,  all  mine,"  said  Louise, 
with  brightening  eyes. 

"As  much  as  you  are  mine,  Louise;  remember  that 
The  tie  between  a  mother  and  child  is  a  chain  to  which  all 
other  ties  are  as  shreds  of  cobweb.  Ah,  you  must  know  it 
BOW,  Louise." 

"I  do  think  so,  indeed,  mother;  and  yet — " 

"  There,  yon  have  talked  enough,  Lonise ;  not  another 
word — not  one,  my  daughter!  yon  must  sleep  now."  And 
nipping  the  threatened  controversy  in  the  bud,  Mrs.  Arm- 
strong drew  the  embroidered  curtains,  and  retired  frtrm  tit 
bediide. 


424  THE     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

For  the  next  three  days,  carriages  were  coming  and  going 
to  and  from  Mont  Crystal.  Although  the  country  people 
severely  censnred  the  conduct  of  the  mother  and  daughter, 
and  although  they  had  entered  into  a  sort  of  tacit  conspiracy 
to  mortify  them  at  the  ball,  yet  few  of  the  county  ladies 
could  resist  the  attraction  of  the  new-born  baby,  the  heiress 
of  two  such  vast  estates  as  Mont  Crystal  and  The  Isle  of 
Rays,  or  the  temptation  of  calling  upon  the  childlike  mother. 
Her  marriage  had  been  such  a  splendid  triumph  as  to  dazzle 
the  county — her  separation  so  sudden  and  unaccountable  as 
to  shock  and  stun  the  neighborhood.  Now  a  babe  was  un- 
expectedly born.  The  doctor  had  spread  the  news.  Doc- 
tors are  great  gossips  ;  that  is  one  of  their  methods  of  cur- 
_ng,  especially  hypochondriacs.  Now  a  babe  was  born  I 
Who  would  have  thought  it  ? — she  was  so  young — it  was 
Kept  so  close.  In  fine,  the  county  ladies  wished  to  see  how 
Louise  looked,  and  how  Mrs.  Armstrong  deported  herself 
under  all  these  circumstances  ;  and  so  for  three  or  four  days 
carriages  stood  before  the  gates  of  Mont  Crystal.  Like  all 
secluded  people,  they  wanted  a  spectacle — a  scene  ;  but  in 
this  they  were  disappointed.  "Not  at  home,"  "Particu- 
larly engaged,"  were  the  words  with  which  the  major- 
ity of  the  visitors  were  received.  A  few  privileged  in- 
dividuals were  admitted  to  the  drawing-room  and  received 
by  Mrs.  Armstrong.  But  even  with  these  she  maintained  a 
cold  and  reserved  manner ;  and,  in  reply  to  their  inquiries 
concerning  Louise,  they  were  told  that  Mrs.  Stuart-Gordon 
was  still  too  weak  to  receive  visitors  in  her  apartment. 

Some  certainly  sympathized  with  the  youthful  mother, 
and  called  to  see  her  from  a  better  motive  than  mere  curios- 
ity. Their  reception,  however,  was  no  nrore  favorable  than 
ihat  of  less  deserving  neighbors. 

It  was  abont  a  week  rroui  the  day  of  her  accouchement 
•hat  LOP!=K.  vap  sitting,  propped  up  with  pillows,  in  a  deli- 
cate lav  -ap  and  a  rose-  Colored  wrapper,  near  cne  of  tht 


MARGARET.  427 

front  windows  of  her  chamber.  It  was  the  same  large,  airy 
front  chamber  called  the  summer  room,  and  was  furnished 
with  the  same  white  draperies.  The  window  near  whicn 
Loise  sat  was  closed,  and  the  muslin  curtains  were  drawn ; 
and  near  the  easy  chair  of  Louise  stood  the  crib  of  her  baby, 
all  draped  with  white.  The  young  mother's  attention  was 
divided  between  the  crib  and  a  little  spy-glass  she  held  in 
her  hand,  and  with  which  after  drawing  aside  the  curtain 
from  the  window,  she  would  contemplate  The  Isle  of  Rays. 
It  was  while  she  was  thus  occupied  that  the  door  was  opened, 
and  "  Miss  Somerville  "  was  announced.  Susan  was  clothed 
in  deep  black,  and  very  pale  and  thin,  yet  wearing  her  hab- 
itual expression  of  profound  serenity.  She  entered  and  ad- 
vanced quietly,  and  taking  both  the  hands  of  Louise,  kissed 
her  with  affection.  Louise  received  Susan  with  a  sorrowful 
tenderness,  as  she  remembered  her  former  injustice.  With- 
out speaking,  only  returning  her  caress,  she  made  room  for 
Susan  in  the  large  easy-chair,  big  enough  for  both.  Miss 
Somerville  took  the  seat,  and  again  threw  her  arms  around 
Louise,  and  kissed  her  affectionately.  Then  she  inquired — 

"Where  is  your  mother,  Louise  ?" 

"  Closeted  with  her  overseer." 

"  How  long  shall  she  remain  there,  Louise  ?" 

"  For  two  or  three  hours  yet ;  they  are  arranging  about 
the  crops.  But,  dear  Susan,  you  have  not  been  to  Mont 
Crystal  before  since  ray  return.  Why  was  that,  Susan  ?" 

"  My  love,  I  might  return  the  charge  and  the  question 
You  have  not  been  at  The  Crags." 

"Ah,  Susan,  I  am  not  my  own  mistress.  Besides,  I 
have  been  so  unhappy,  dear  Snsan." 

"  I  know  it,  my  poor  girl — I  know  it ;  and  I  should  have 
eome  to  you,  but  that  I  have  been  very  ill,  and  my  illness 
left  me  very  feeble ;  and  I  have  no  horse  now,  Louise,  and 
the  ten  irMes  between  the  Craps  and  Mont  Crystal  if 


426  THB     MOTHBB-IJT-LAW. 

too  long  a  walk  for  me.     This  is  the  first  time  I  tart 
attempted  it" 

"  Susan !  you  do  not  say  that  von  hare  walked  all  this 
distance  to  see  me  ?" 

"  Yes,  my  love." 

"And  yon,  too,  hare  had  troubles,  severe  sorrows,  that 
you  do  not  speak  of,  dear  and  generous  Susan — strong  and 
courageous  Susan  I" 

As  in  tacit  contradiction  of  her  thoughts,  Susan  turned 
a  shade  paler,  and  trembled  slightly. 

"  And  Anna  is  dead,  Susan  ?" 

Susan  bowed  her  head  in  reply. 

"  And  poor  old  George  and  Harriet,  Susan — how  do  they 
bear  her  death  ?" 

"  Better  than  they  bore  her  life,  or  rather  the  uncertainty 
of  her  future — " 

"  Are  they  cheerful  then  ? 

"  At  last — yes,  an  old  couple  like  them,  married  in  early 
youth,  living  nearly  half  a  century  together,  become  all  in 
all  to  each  other — but,  Louise,  you  are  weeping  I  Do  not 
weep,  Louise,"  said  Susan,  pressing  her  arms  around  her 
and  kissing  her. 

"  No  matter  1  Do  not  mind  my  tears.  There !  they  ar» 
gone.  Tell  me  about  Zoe.  She  was  somehow  mixed  up  in 
all  that  dreadful  business  ?" 

"  It  was  all  a  mistake,  or  rather  a  conspiracy.  Zoe  ii 
lot  a  mulatto,  never  teas  a  slave.  Brighty  knows  that ;  so 
does  Gertrude  and  Brutus ;  and  they  all  visit  her  and  receive 
her  freely  now." 

"  Then  why  do  they  not  prove  it — why  do  they  not  estab 
Uah  it — why  do  they  not  punish  those  who  have  belied  and 
persecuted  her. 

"  Alas,  yon  do  not  know  what  you  say,  child  I     She  has 

.^i  order  the  strongest  circumstantial  evidence  adjudged 

to  be  a  rim  aid  OM  been  sold,  bought,  and  eafooehfeed 


MARGARET.  43t 

M  §nch.  We  know  better  from  conviction,  bat  we  hare  no 
means  on  earth  of  proving  it." 

"  And  Brutus,  then,  cannot  marry  her  ?" 

"  Certainly  not,  my  lore,  until  her  true  position  is  under- 
•tood ;  but  Lonise,  let  me  say  this  to  you — let  me  force  it 
earnestly  upon  yon — treat  Zoe  with  all  the  affection  that  is 
in  your  heart  for  her — she  has  a  claim  upon  you  and  upon 
me.  And,  Louise,  my  love,  another  favor — keep  what  I 
have  said  about  Zoe  to  your  own  bosom." 

"  I  have  no  secrets  from  mother,"  replied  Louise. 

Miss  Somerville  looked  troubled  for  an  instant,  and  then 
her  countenance  cleared  off  as  she  said  to  herself — "It  is 
well  I  told  her  no  more." 

"Who  is  Zoe,  then,  Susan?" 

"  My  dear  Louise,  I  have  told  you  enough  to  enlist  your 
respect  for  Zoe.  I  dare  tell  you  no  more." 

"  You  will  at  least  inform  me  how  our  dear  old  teacher 
is.  The  dreadful  shock  drove  him  mad  for  a  while,  but  his 
madness  subsided  into  a  happy  dotage." 

"  The  schoolmaster  is  dead." 

"  Dead  !  dead  1  He,  too,  Alas  !  every  one  can  die  but 
me  1  The  maiden  and  the  old  man  1  Every  one  but  me  ! 
Why  cannot  I  die  ?"  exclaimed  Louise,  as  hev  pallid  fea- 
tures contracted  violently,  and  relaxed  as  she  burst  into 
tears. 

This  was  one,  of  the  spasmodic  fits  of  grief  to  which  she 
had  been  subject  of  late. 

Susan  Somerville  had  started,  looked  at  her  in  surprise ; 
then,  rising,  she  took  the  sleeping  babe  from  the  crib,  and 
laid  it  on  her  lap.  The  child  awakened,  opened  its  eyes, 
and  looked  up.  In  a  moment,  the  c,uick  emotions  of  her 
childish  mother  changed.  Wiping  her  eyes,  she  looked 
down  at  the  babe  with  a  new  realization  of  possession  and 
consolation.  She  looked  in  silence  a  long  time,  seeming 
quite  Ust  in  the  contemplation  of  her  treasure,  while 


4$0  THl     MOTHKB-IN-LAW. 

•tood  bending  over  them  and  half  embracing  her.  JLt  last, 
taking  the  hand  of  Susan  Somerville,  without  lifting  her 
eyes  from  the  babe,  she  asked — 

"  What  do  you  think  of  my  baby,  Susan  ?" 

"  She  is  a  fine,  strong,  hearty  child." 

"  Bnt  whom  does  she  resemble  ?" 

M  Not  you,  Louise,  and  not  Lonis.  The  form  of  her 
head,  neck,  and  jaws,  express  the  sign  of  great  strength 
and  determination.  She  will  resemble  General  Stnart-Gor- 
don  and  Mrs.  Armstrong,"  replied  Susan,  looking  with 
great  interest  on  the  babe.  "  What  are  you  going  to  call 
her?" 

"  Margaret,  after  the  idolized  mother  of  Louis.  Susan, 
tell  Louis  when  you  see  him  that  there  is  another  Margaret 
Stuart-Gordon.  Susan,  do  you  often  see  Louis  ?" 

"Yes,  very  often.  He  spends  nearly  every  evening  with 
me  at  The  Crags." 

"  With  you,  Susan  ?"  exclaimed  the  young  wife,  while  a 
slight  spasm  of  distress  agitated  her  violet-pale  face. 

"  Yes,  with  me,"  replied  Susan,  calmly.  "  You  know  I 
always  was  his  friend.  I  am  so  still.  He  needs  me  in  hia 
sorrow,  and  I  will  not  fail  him  !" 

Louise  pressed  her  hand,  and  said — "  But  people  are  so 
censorious,  dear  Susan  ;  and  under  all  the  circumstances — " 

"  The  world  will  make  no  mistakes  about  me,"  answered 
Susan,  with  a  gentle  dignity. 

Louise  raised  her  eyes  to  that  pale  but  angelic  counte- 
nance, and  acquiesced  from  her  profoundest  soul. 

"  Since  you  have  named  Louis,  will  you  permit  me  to 
ask  you  some  questions  about  him  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes ;  oh,  yes  I  Heaven  bless  you  for  coming,  since 
you  may  be  said  to  come  from  Louis.  €ro  on." 

"  Have  yeu  ever  received  any  letters  from  Louie  sine* 
your  residence  here  1" 

"Not  one." 


MARGARET.  481 

"  Yet  he  wrote  to  you  many,  many  times,  until  he  aban- 
ioned  it  in  despair  of  getting  an  answer.  Have  you  never 
written  to  him." 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  many,  many  letters." 

"  Yet  he  never  received  one  !  It  is  plain,  Lonise,  that 
all  your  letters  have  been  intercepted." 

"  Oh,  who  could  have  been  so  cruel  ?" 

"  It  is  not  for  me  to  say,  Louise  ;  it  is  a  dreadful  thing. 
Let  Providence  reveal  it  in  his  own  time  and  method  1" 

"  Oh  1  Susan,  I  am  so  glad  you  are  here  to  tell  me  thig. 
*Jod  bless  you  for  coming  !  Come  again,  Susan !  come 
often !  and  since  you  see  Louis,  tell  him,  Susan,  that  I 
I  love  him  still,  and  always — that  I  pray  for  him  day  and 
night — that  I  thank  him  devoutly  for  his  forbearance  to- 
ward my  mother — that  I  admire  him  more  than  ever — that 
I  would  die  for  him — but  that  I  cannot  break  my  mother's 
heart,  or  dare  her  curse  !  Tell  him  I  have  named  my  child 
after  his  mother.  Tell  him  that  I  love  this  child  more  than 
life.  Yet,  assure  him,  that  if  he  desires  it,  I  will  press  my 
last  kiss  on  this  infant's  lips,  and  send  her  to  him,  if  her 
presence  would  comfort  him.  Tell  him,  for  my  own  part, 
I  feel  weak,  and  altogether  unworthy  of  his  thoughts ;  that 
I  only  wish  to  die,  as  the  only  means  of  extrication  from 
this  trouble.  To  die,  that  he  may  be  happy.  Grief  for 
the  dead  is  less  severe  than  sorrow  for  the  living." 

"  Louise !  Louise  1  you  will  perish  in  this  conflict  be- 
tween the  prejudices  and  perversions  of  your  strange  edu- 
cation and  the  natural  and  good  qualities  of  your  heart. 
Yes,  Louise  1  that  is  an  internal  conflict  worse  than  the  con- 
troversy between  your  mother  and  your  husband's  family  ; 
and  it  is  a  suffering  from  which  even  the  angelic  gooduesi 
of  your  Louis  cannot  save  you.  You  are  not  doing  well, 
Louise,  ani  your  heart  tells  you  so,  for  yon  call  yourself 
weak  and  unworthy.'  Resolve — return  to  Lonis.  1  will 


482  THX     MOTHIB-IN-LAW. 

bear  any  message  to  him.  I  will  bring  him  here  to-tconow 
—to-night" 

"  No,  no  1  no,  no  1  not  for  a  thousand  worlds,"  ex- 
claimed the  imbecile  girl,  turning  very  palt,  "Do  yon 
know  my  mother,  that  yon  propose  that  ?  Oh  !  the  scene 
would  be  frightful.  I  can  bear  anything  else — but  I  can- 
not dare  a  mother's  curse." 

Louise  suddenly  started,  and  suppressed  a  scream — Mrs. 
Armstrong  stood  before  them  1  She  had  entered  nn per- 
ceived, while  they  were  absorbed  in  conversation.  Susan 
Bomerville  arose  and  curtsied,  without  offering  her  hand, 
or  reseating  herself.  Mrs.  Armstrong  bowed  coldly,  and 
then  addressing  herself  to  Louise,  asked  her  how  long  she 
had  been  sitting  up  ? 

"  Nearly  two  hours,  but  I  am  not  tired,  mamma ;" 
pleaded  the  daughter. 

"  Nevertheless  you  must  lie  down  !"  decided  the  lady, 
lifting  the  baby  from  her  lap,  and  replacing  it  in  the  crib. 

"  Miss  Somerville  I  am  sure,  will  excuse  us." 

"  I  am  about  to  take  my  leave,  madam,"  replied  Susan. 

"  Mother,  Susan  walked  here,"  said  Louise. 

"  Then,  Miss  Somerville,  you  must  either  give  us  the 
pleasure  of  your  company  all  night,  or  permit  me  to  send 
you  home  in  the  carriage,"  said  Mrs.  Armstrong,  who,  with 
all  her  deviltries,  was  a  Virginian  lady  still ;  and,  as  such, 
a  loyal  observer  of  all  the  laws  of  hospitality. 

Miss  Somerville  thanked  Mrs.  Armstrong,  but  informed 
her  that  she  was  engaged  to  spend  the  afternoon  and  night 
at  the  Dovecote  with  Zoe.  Snsan  then  embraced  Louise, 
and  took  her  leave.  Mrs.  Armstrong  had  apparently  for- 
gotten her  intention  of  putting  Louise  to  bed,  for  she 
wheeled  an  easy-chair  close  to  the  crib  near  her  daughter, 
and  sat  down,  saying — 

"I  am  constrained  to  declare  that  Miss  Susan  Somerville 
fc  far  too  independent  for  her  sex  and  years.  To  think  of 


XAROABST.  4M 

her  openly  visiting  the  Dovecote  I     If  she  continues  to  d» 
that,  the  doors  of  Mont  Crystal  shall  be  closed  against  her." 

"  Oh,  but  mamma,"  said  Lonise,  "  Zoe  is  not  what  she 
has  been  represented  to  be.  Susan,  and  the  Lions,  and 
even  Brighty,  have  found  out  something — a  conspiracy, 
they  say — but  Susan  did  not  tell  me  what  it  was — but 
mother!  good  heavens,  mother!  What  is  the  matter?" 

Mrs.  Armstrong  had  started  from  her  chair,  grown 
ghastly  pale,  sank  back  again,  with  her  face  crimson,  and 
the  veins  in  her  forehead  and  temples  full  and  distended. 

"  Oh,  my  Heaven  I  mother — mother !"  exclaimed  Louise, 
starting  forward;  "Kate — Kate  I  here — here!  help  !  my 
mother  is  dying!"  and  she  ran  and  pulled  the  bell  violently 
Several  servants  ran  in.  Mrs.  Armstrong  was  placed  upon 
tne  bed.  The  physician  was  sent  for.  Ice  was  placed  at 
her  head,  and  bottles  of  hot  water  at  her  feet.  Louise  was 
frightened  and  helpless  as  usual. 

"  Do  not  be  alarmed,  madam,"  said  Kate  Jumper,  who 
seemed  to  understand  the  case — "  this  is  only  a  rush  of 
blood  to  the  head  ;  she  will  be  better  soon."  And,  in  fact, 
before  the  arrival  of  the  physician,  Mrs.  Armstrong  was 
relieved. 

But  now  came  the  strange  part  of  it  As  soon  as  her 
senses  had  quite  returned,  she  dismissed  all  her  attendants 
from  the  room  ;  and,  regardless  of  her  own  exhaustion,  or 
her  daughter's  feebleness,  she  summoned  Louise  to  her  bed- 
side, and  made  her  repeat  all  the  conversation  of  which  Zoe 
had  been  the  subject.  Then  partially  reassured,  she  dis- 
missed her  to  bed,  and  recalled  her  attendants,  by  means  of 
the  bell  whose  handle  was  in  her  reach. 

The  next  morning  Mrs.  Armstrong  was  up  early,  and 
having  seen  Louise  made  comfortable  at  her  favorite  win- 
dow, with  her  babe  beside  her  in  the  crib,  and  having  given 
orders  that  no  one  should  be  admitted  during  her  absence, 
Mrs  Armstrong  entered  her  carriage  and  drove  out  Sbf 


434  THB     MOYHEB-IN-LAW. 

was  erone  all  day.  She  returned  haggard  and  wretched  U 
the  evening.  The  next  clay  she  was  closeted  with  a  lawyer, 
a  stranger,  and  her  overseer;  and  at  the  close  of  the  confer- 
ence, looked  better  satisfied.  The  third  day,  letters  were 
written,  and  packets  sent  off  to  the  post-office.  The  re 
mainder  of  the  week  there  \vas  a  great  bustle  all  through 

the  house. 

******* 

The  1st  of  May,  a  neighbor  passing  by  Mont  Crystal, 
found  the  house  shut  up.  Inquiring  of  a  man  who  was  su- 
perintending the  working  of  a  contiguous  field,  he  was  told 
that  the  family  had  removed  quite  suddenly — so  suddenly, 
that  no  one  had  suspected  their  intention  until  they  had 
gone — no  one  knew  whither — not  even  their  relatives  at 
The  Isle  of  Rays.  That  the  house  was  closed  and  tha 
lands  leased — and  the  negroes  hired  to  the  lessee  ;  that  he 
himself  was  the  overseer  appointed  by  the  planter  who  had 
taken  the  Mont  Crystal  estate. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

LITTLE    BRIGHTT. 

An  airy,  pleasant  chamber,  with  the  rose  Tinea 
Woven  around  the  casement.— JRse  Mitford. 

A  youthful  mother  to  her  infant  smiling, 
Who  with  spread  arms  and  dancing  feet, 
And  cooing  voice,  returns!  an  answer  sweet. — ifig»  BaOtlt. 

I  AM  about  to  take  you  into  a  pleasant  room,  and  into 
pleasant  company.  If  there  was  one  room  more  delightful 
than  all  the  others  at  The  Islo  of  Rays,  it  was  Bri^hty'i 
•ummer  room.  It  was  on  the  ground-floor,  and  opened  la 
front  by  glass  doors  upon  the  piazza,  and  at  the  back  by 


LITTLE     BKIGHTT.  486 

similar  doors  into  the  garden  of  roses  ;  in  fact,  it  was  th« 
room  on  the  left,  corresponding  to  the  pleasant  breakfast- 
room  on  the  right — the  garden  of  roses  running  the  whole 
length  of  the  back  of  the  house.  Brighty  had  chosen  this 
room  for  her  midsummer  boudoir,  for  the  sake  of  her  two 
passions — the  music  of  birds,  and  the  fragrance  of  flowers, 
borne  npon  the  summer  breeze  into  the  chamber.  These 
eonld  not  be  had  in  an  up-stairs  room,  for  Brighty  could 
not  delight  in  the  songs  of  birds  imprisoned  in  cages,  or  the 
perfume  of  flowers  dying  in  vases.  To  give  her  pleasure 
there  must  be  freedom  and  gladness  in  the  bird,  and  life  and 
freshness  in  the  breath  of  the  flowers.  Brighty  said  she 
would  always  feel  a  quaver  of  sadness  in  the  merriest  trills 
of  a  caged  bird,  and  a  scent  of  faintness  in  the  richest  odor 
of  a  plucked  flower.  But  perhaps  Brighty  was  fanciful — 
which,  as  mistress  of  The  Isle  of  Rays,  and  as  the  darling 
wife  and  spoiled  child  of  General  Stuart-Gordon,  she  had  a 
right  to  be.  Well  1  this  summer  room,  with  its  vine-shaded 
piazza  in  front,  and  its  garden  at  back,  and  the  cheery  trill 
of  birds  and  the  dewy  fragrance  of  flowers  wafted  through 
it — this  beautiful  room !  with  the  carpet  on  the  floor, 
and  the  paper  on  the  walls,  both  of  the  same  pattern, 
namely,  a  white  ground,  with  red  roses  running  over  it, 
with  its  white  muslin  over  pink  curtains,  with  its  lounge 
and  chair  covers  of  fine  pink  and  white  Marseilles  quilt- 
work — this  cheerful  room,  with  its  bevy  of  gay  girls  gath- 
ered around  one,  leaping,  crowing,  laughing  baby — that  is, 

to  wit,  upon  the  fifteenth  of  July,  in  the  year . 

As  might  have  been  expected,  both  from  her  position  and 
her  personal  accomplishments,  Mrs.  General  Stuart-Gordon 
became  the  leader  of  the  ton  in  the  county.  The  Isle  of 
Rays  became  the  seat  of  elegant  hospitality.  And  never 
had  the  black  satin  vest  of  the  stout  General  required 
greater  breadth  for  expansion  of  the  chest,  than  when  seated 
at  the  foot  of  his  own  table,  doing  the  honors  of  a  dinner- 


4M  THE     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

party,  at  which  his  young  and  beautiful  wife  presided  with 
eqnal  dignity  and  grace. 

And  Britannia  enjoyed  her  position  immensely,  I  assure 
yon.  Yea  I  am  affaid  above  everything  else,  until  one 
fine  Bummer's  morning,  while  the  sun  was  shining  and  the 
dew  glistening — while  the  flowers  were  blooming  and  tho 
birds  singing — little  Brighty  arrived,  anJ  Britannia  had  a 
revelation  of  another  heaven  than  that  of  marble  palaces, 
silver  plate,  aud  priceless  jewels  ;  and  the  gates  through 
which  that  heaven  was  visible  were  the  azure  gauze  curtains 
of  a  rosewood  crib.  Yon  know  that  Britannia,  even  in  her 
cold,  polished  girlhood,  while  eschewing  love  with  youthful 
Bcorn,  admitted  that  she  did  love  whom  she  pitied  or  pro- 
tected— judge,  therefore,  how  she  loved  this  bright  new 
claimant  for  her  pity  and  protection. 

"  And  I  am  very  glad  she  is  a  little  girl."  thought  Bri- 
tannia; because  this  dear  General  has  a  son  already:  De- 
Bides  which,  he  has  such  a  partiality  for  girls  of  all  ages, 
from  infancy  to  old  maidenhood." 

So  the  General  had — especially  since  his  two  Brighties — 
his  damask  rose  and  bud — had  rejuvenated  him.  So  the 
General  had — a  grandfatherly  fondness  for  baby  girls,  a 
fatherly  fondness  for  young  girls,  and  a  brotherly  fondness 
for  old  girls.  Oh !  it  was  no  wonder  the  General  required 
such  a  very  large  black  satin  vest — he  had  such  a  large 
heart  under  it.  And,  as  for  the  girls — babies,  maidens, 
and  spinstecs — they  all  loved  the  General,  as  kittens  love 
hearth-warmth,  or  as  flowers  love  sunshine. 

But  the  fifteenth  of  July,  in  the  rose -colored,  rose- 
scented  summer-room  at  The  Isle  of  Rays,  were  assembled 
Britannia,  Susan  Somerville,  Gertrude,  and  Zoe.  Miss 
Somerville,  at  the  earnest  and  repeated  solicitation  of 
General  and  Mrs.  Stuart-Gordon,  had  been  persuaded  to 
ipend  some  weeks  of  the  midsummer  at  The  Isle  of  Rays. 
Zo«  waa  engaged  to  assist  in  making  up  an  infinite  number 


LITTLE     BRIGHTT.  4S7 

of  summer  garments  there,  and  Gertrude,  beiug  Ibr  th« 
time  deprived  of  visiting  The  Crags  or  the  Dovecote, 
favored  The  Isle  of  Rays  with  an  nnnsual  portion  of  her 
time. 

And  now  these  three  girls  were  all  down  on  the  row- 
figured  carpet,  contending  for  the  favor  of — whom?  A  lit- 
tle, wilful,  bright-eyed  sprite  of  fourteen  months'  old,  who 
would  go  to  one,  and  wouldn't  go  to  another,  just  as  its 
capricious  will  dictated.  Britannia  was  passing  in  and  oat, 
engaged  in  some  pleasant  household  duty,  assumed  more 
from  choice  than  necessity.  The  General  was  walking 
about  the  room,  riding-whip  and  hat  in  hand,  now  pausing 
to  smile  at  the  group  around  the  babe,  now  jestingly  wish- 
ing  that  he  hai  a  magic  chair  in  which  to  enchant  Britan- 
nia, so  that  she  should  not  make  him  nervous  by  fidgeting 
about  60 ;  in  fine,  quite  unable  to  take  himself  »w»j  from 
the  charming  room  and  its  lovely  inmates. 

Presently  Britannia  entered,  preceded  by  old  Seraphina — 
c«-  Serry,  as  the  girls  called  her — bearing  a  basket  of  plnms, 
peaches,  and  grapes ;  and  now  the  General  laid  down  his 
riding-whip  and  hat,  and  drew  off  his  gloves,  calling 
through  the  vine-shaded  window  to  Apollo,  who  stood  oe- 
fore  the  door  with  two  horses  saddled,  one  for  his  master, 
and  one  for  himself,  to  put  up  the  horses,  for  he  should  not 
ride  to-day,  as  it  was  growing  late  and  getting  warm.  And 
then  the  General  threw  himself  upon  one  of  the  settees,  and 
Brighty  turned  sharply  round,  and,  smiling  gayly,  clasped 
his  rough  chin  in  her  hand,  by  way  of  a  saucy  welcome ; 
and  Zoe,  bouncing  up,  ran  up  stairs,  and  returned  with  hii 
blue-and- white  chintz  dressing-gown,  and  his  sheepskin 
slippers,  and  then  she  took  his  coat  and  gaiters,  and  carried 
them  away.  Of  course,  little  Zoe  got  a  caress  for  her  paint, 
and  then  she  bat  down  and  selected  the  ripest  grapes  for  the 
baby,  which  she  held  upon  her  lap,  while  the  others  ate 
fruit  Little  Zoe  had  always  •  need  of  some  one  to  wonhip 


4S8  THE     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

and  wait  on,  and  since  the  death  of  her  adopted  father,  and 
the  estrangement  of  Louise,  she  had  attached  herself,  lichen- 
like,  to  Britannia  and  the  General.  Zoe  sat  there  with 
little  Brighty,  carefully  peeling  ripe  grapes  for  her  until  old 
Serry  had  carried  away  the  basket  and  returned. 

Wanting  an  excuse  to  remain  in  the  room,  old  Serry 
went  up  to  Zoe,  and  saying,  "  Gira  me  de  chile,  Miss  Zoe," 
took  the  little  one  away,  and  sat  down  with  her  near  the 
window. 

"  Where  is  Louis  ?"  asked  Gertrude,  paring  her  peach, 
"  I  never  see  anything  of  him  lately." 

"I  have  not  seen  him  since  breakfast,"  replied  the 
General. 

"  I  hab,"  said  Serry,  putting  in  her  word  with  the  freedom 
of  an  old  Virginia  domestic, "  I  hab  see  Marse  Louis  dis  morn- 
in*.  You  see,  Miss  Drertrude,  Marse  Louis,  he  never  let  me 
put  Miss  Louise's  rooms  to  rights — never.  Wont  let  me  'slurb 
a  single  thing  no  more  an  nothin'  at  all.  Dat  room  is  a  scan'- 
lous  sight.  Dere's  Miss  Louise's  workstan' jes'  as  she  done  left 
it — drawers  all  out,  things  all  strowed  all  over  de  top,  and 
even  so  much  as  her  needle  a  stickiu'  in  her  sowin',  jes'  as 
she  got  np  an'  left  it  de  day  she  went  home  with  bar  ma 
Oh  I  my  blessed  Heavenly  Marser,  don't  I  pray  for  dat 
'oman's  'version — three  times  down  on  my  knees  every  day, 
reglar  as  the  day  comes.  'Taint  no  use  dough — not  a 
gingle  bit.  I  goin'  to  stop  of  it ;  I  goin'  to  stop  a  botherin' 
my  Heavenly  Marser  about  her,  'cause  yon  see,  Miss  Drer- 
trude, and  young  ladies,  it  aint  no  sort  o'  use.  Marser 
can't  do  nothing  't  all  wid  her ;  he  done  let  her  alone ;  he 
done  gib  her  right  up  to  de  debbil. " 

"  Bat  where  is  Louis,  Aunty  ?"  reminded  Gertrude. 

"  Oh  yes,  where  is  Louis  ?"  asked  Zoe. 

"  Well,  I  gwine  tell  yon.  I  see  Miss  Louise's  icomt 
open,  an'  I  thinks  now  I  take  dis  chance,  and  go  ia  dere 
and  °ean  np  Bless  yon,  I  aint  done  gone  in  dere 


LITTLE     BBIGHTT.  489 

Mi1  a  year,  so  I  gone  in,  an'  as  I  tell  you,  dere  work  all 
etrow  over  floor,  dere  wreaf  of  roses  hung  over  de  glass  al! 
done  gone,  'cept  the  stems  and  de  string,  an'  leaves  all  dry 
as  powder,  all  strow  over  de  toilet  cloff — an'  Miss  Louise's 
loose  wrapper,  all  lying  over  de  side  ob  de  bed — and  Mr. 
Louis,  he  kneelin'  down  by  de  side  ob  de  bed.  all  white, 
wid  his  curls  tangled,  and  his  face  on  de  wrapper,  and  his 
arms  stretched  over  it.  So  I  jes'  looks  in,  an'  I  saw  dat, 
an'  I  jes'  pulls  de  door  to  softly,  an'  comes  away — I  wa« 
hurted  to  the  heart — and  soon  after  I  sees  him  get  on  his 
horse  and  ride  away.  Dere  1  dere's  where  he  neen  all  day 
a  takin'  on  in  Miss  Louise's  room.  Now  he  cione,  lock  it 
up  again,  and  gone  away.  Ah,  Lord,  I  like  to  see  tne 
'oman  as  would  part  me  from  my  ole  Apple.  f)ere,  dere  1 
dere,  dere !  its  Aunty  aint  forgot  de  baby — us  Aunty  will 
peel  another  peach  for  de  baby  bunton  1"  And  the  old 
lady  gave  her  attention  to  her  little  charge. 

"  But  do  you  never  hear  from  Louise  ?"  auctioned  Ger- 
trude of  Britannia. 

"  Never.  We  have  discovered  that  they  are  living  at 
New  Orleans,  in  great  splendor;  that  they  aie  very  much 
in  society,  and  give  large  parties — " 

"Does  Louis  never  write?" 

"  Never.  All  his  first  letters  seemed  dropped  into  a  bot- 
tomless well,  for  any  response  they  called  forth — n 

"  Nothing  will  be  done  with  Mrs.  Armstrong  until  I 
take  her  in  hand,  and  I  shall  do  it  eventually,"  said  Ger- 
trude, with  a  determined  look.  "  There  is  no  particular 
hnrry,  Louis  and  Lonise  are  young  enough  yet — dear  me, 
yes,  Louis  is  but  twenty,  and  Louise  but  eighteen.  Bide  a 
bit,  Mrs.  Armstrong." 

"  Ah,  Lor' !  I  wonders,  I  does,  ef  she  nebber  think  of 
her  end — when  that  shet-up-eye  come  1  Don'i;  she  memo- 
rize dat  Louis  has  got  a  mother  up  in  Heaven — an  angel 
always  «  standin'  in  de  presence  of  the  Lord,  who  can  say 


440  THE     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

to  him,  '  Lord,  look  down  through  de  slopes  of  space  on 
•arth,  and  see  what  is  goin' on  there;  see  how  a  wicked 
'oman  is  a  sarvin'  out  ray  son,  dat  I  love.'  I  wonder  she 
don't  think  ob  dat.  I  wonder  she  aint  afeard  to  injure  a 
youth,  as  has  a  mother  standin'  in  de  presence  ob  de  Lord, 
night  and  day.  Goodness !  here  comes  Marse  Louis  now  1" 
exclaimed  the  old  woman,  as  horses'  feet  clambered  up  to 
the  door ;  and  Louis,  throwing  himself  from  the  saddle. 
nurried,  pale  and  agitated,  into  the  room. 

All  were  struck  with  surprise  and  dismay  at  his  extreme 
perturbation.  He  sank  into  a  chair,  grasping  in  his  hand 
a  paper.  Susan  Somerville  poured  out  a  glass  of  water, 
and  handed  him ;  he  drank  it — pressed  the  kind  hand  that 
offered  it ;  as  he  thanked  her  with  his  eyes.  Then  turning 
to  his  father,  he  said,  "I  wish  to  speak  with  you,  sir;"  and, 
rising,  he  left  the  room. 

General  Stnart-Gordon  followed. 

When  they  had  reached  the  study,  and  were  both  seated — 

"There,  sir,"  said  Louis,  "there  are  the  hopes  of  a  life 
destroyed." 

And  he  laid  the  Virginian  Republican  upon  the  table  be- 
tween them,  pointing  out  a  paragraph.  It  was  under  the 
head  of  "  Proceedings  of  the  Legislature,"  and  was  as  fol- 
lows : — 

"  Hon.  J.  0.  La  Compte,  from  the  Committee  of  the  Ju- 
diciary, reported  a  bill  for  the  divorce  of  Louis  Stuart- 
Gordon  from  his  wife,  Louise  H.  A.  Stuart-Gordon,  which 
was  read,  and  laid  npon  the  table." 

"  There  was  some  foul  work  here,  Louis  I  Upon  what 
pretense  could  this  have  been  claimed — upon  what  trumped- 
»p  story — what  perjury  J" 

"  Heaven  knows,  sir.  I  only  see  the  conduct  of— of — 
Louise,  in  this.  I  only  feel  that  I  have  grossly  deceived 
myself  in  my  estimate  of  that  young  lady." 

11  Exactly  !    Precisely  1     Compare  her  with  MiM  Somer- 


LITTLE     BBIGHTT  441 

ville,  Zoe,  Gertrude — with  my  own  queenly  lady — with  any 
right-minded,  right-headed  girl  or  woman — and  then  judge 
her." 

Louis  was  very  pale  and  thin,  and  he  seemed  drooping 
with  a  general  lassitude  as  he  leaned  back  in  the  high- 
backed  chair,  his  paleness  thrown  out  into  ghastly  relief  by 
the  black  leather  of  its  covering  and  the  black  cloth  of  his 
dress ;  and  his  very  voice,  when  he  spoke,  seemed  faint  and 
broken,  from  physical  debility  or  mental  despair.  General 
Stuart-Gordon  looked  at  him  for  some  moments  in  silence. 
Then  he  said — 

"  You  are  a  Stuart,  Louis — a  genuine  Stuart.  It  is  cu- 
rious to  observe  in  you  the  very  same  traits  of  character, 
with  the  same  cast  of  features,  that  ruined  your  ancestors — 
the  same  tenderness  of  heart,  the  same  infirmity  of  purpose, 
the  same  infatuated  attachment  to  the  one  object  of  idol- 
atry, whatever  that  may  be.  Oh,  Louis  1  be  a  man — rouse 
yourself.  Zounds,  boy  1  it  is  a  very  lackadaisical  thing  to 
pine  away  and  die  of  a  broken  heart  for  any  woman,  even 
your  fugitive  wife." 

Louis  did  not  reply.  There  was  a  weight  upon  his  bo 
som,  a  general  sinking,  that  made  it  difficult  to  sustain  hi* 
part  of  the  conversation. 

"  Listen  to  me  now,  Louis.  I  think  I  am  rather  health- 
ier in  mind  and  body  that  yourself.  I  will  volunteer  my 
counsel ;  you  will  accept  it  or  not,  as  you  see  fit.  First 
then,  you  know,  of  course,  that  Louise  can  never  obtain  a 
divorce,  however  much  she  may  wish  it,  since  nothing  cat 
be  brought  against  you — since  she  herself  is  the  faithlesa 
party,  while  you  are  guiltless  toward  her.  It  is  only  the 
blameless  and  the  injured  party  with  whom  remains  the  pri- 
vilege of  divorcing;  and  certainly  in  justice  it  should  be 
10.  Therefore,  no  power  on  earth  can  free  Louise  from 
her  matrimonial  bondage,  but  your  own.  Are  vou  heeding 
mo,  Louis  ?" 


441  THI     ftOTHIR-IN'LAW. 

"Yes,  sir,  I  listen." 

'  My  advice  to  you,  then,  is,  to  write  to  Louise.*1 

1  Of  what  avail  were  that,  sir  ?  They  take  no  notice  if 
my  letters.  I  do  not  know  that  they  even  open  and  read 
them." 

"  Ah !  you  may  be  very  sure  that  Mrs.  Armstrong  readi 
•very  letter  you  address  to  Louise,  or  to  herself,  though  I 
presume  that  Louise  never  sees  them,  and  that  Mrs.  Arin- 
atrong  would  certainly  not  lose  the  advantage  over  us  of 
gaining  a  knowledge  of  our  sentiments  and  wishes,  by  read- 
ing our  letters,  while  she  studiously  avoids  revealing  or 
committing  herself  by  replying  to  any  one  of  them.  Nev- 
ertheless, I  am  riure  she  would  reply  to  the  letter  that  I  ad- 
rise  yon  to  write.  It  is  this  :  write  to  Louise,  and  ask  her 
if  her  happiness  is  involved  in  this  matter  of  freedom  from 
her  marriage  bonds  ;  tell  her  that,  if  so,  you,  in  whom, 
from  her  faithlessness,  rests  the  only  power — that  you  will 
free  her,  by  an  application  for  a  divorce  to  the  Legislature. 
They  will  reply  to  that  letter  I" 

"  A  letter  which  I  shall  not  write,  my  father !"  answerea 
Louis,  ri&ing  and  walking  the  floor. 

"  Why  not,  Louis  Jn 

"  Oh,  sir  1  the  whole  matter  is  repugnant,  repulsive." 

"  I  know  that  you  are  morbidly  delicate — fastidious  even 
*x>  a  fault ;  but  no  odium  can  attach  to  your  divorce  that 
does  not  now  attach  to  your  separation." 

"  Sir,  it  is  not  altogether  that.  There  are  higher, 
broader,  deeper  motives  of  conduct  than  general  odium  or 
approbation,  or  individual  happiness  or  misery.  Marriage 
is  the  most  sacred  tie  on  earth.  The  peace  of  families,  the 
social  welfare  of  the  whole  community,  depend  upon  it* 
being  held  so.  If  Louise  ai>d  myself  have  contracted  an 
ill-judged  marriage,  we  must  suffer  for  it,  and  bear  the 
penalty  Better  that  individuals  should  suffer,  than  that  the 
general  tone  of  moral  sentiment  should  be  lowered.  Oh! 


LITTL1     BRIGHTT.  44* 

obfem,  iirl  in  modern  times,  in  Christian  countries,  di- 
TOrceB  were  so  rare  as  to  he  almost  unheard  of,  until  two 
men  in  the  power  of  place  set  a  very  baleful  example,  that 
ipread  like  a  slow  pestilence  over  their  respective  countries 
Since  the  divorce  of  the  Empress  Josephine  by  Napoleon, 
and  that  of  Queen  Caroline  by  George  IV.,  divorces  hava 
become  far  more  common.  I  trace  it  to  the  influence  of 

that  high  example  I     My  father,  we  exert  in county 

an  influence  quite  as  strong,  if  not  as  extensive,  as  that  of 
the  illustrious  persons  I  have  named,  and,  believe  me,  it  is 
dangerous  to  introduce  a  respectable  precedent  for  an  act 
of  questionable  morality  in  a  neighborhood.  Still — still — 
I  have  not  considered  this  very  deeply,  the  suggestion  is 
new.  Perhaps,  were  the  happiness  of  Louise  really  in- 
volved, I  might  be  induced  to  set  aside  all  objections  not 
positively  founded  on  pure  right,  were  it  not  for  one  thing — 
one  fetter  that  binds  us  together,  and  must  never,  never  be 
broken  but  by  death  !" 

"  And  that  ?" 

'Is  our  daughter." 

'  Louis  !  nonsense  I  The  little  one  is  in  the  hands  of 
her  mother  and  grandmother,  who,  it  is  to  be  presumed,  love 
her  fondly.  She  is  sure  of  the  best  education  that  wealth 
can  procure  for  her,  and  will  be,  besides,  the  heiress  of  a 
large  fortune.  And,  Lonis,  more  than  all,  by  the  time  you 
are  thirty-five  or  six  years,  when  you  will  be  still  young, 
though  not  youthful,  she,  your  daughter,  will  be  grown,  and 
most  probably  married  and  settled  in  life.  Mrs.  Armstrong 
is  a  great  hand  at  early  marriages,  as  you  know  to  your 
cost — and  you  at  thirty-six  will  find  yourself  unsettled  ai 
now,  Louis.  No  weakness,  if  you  have  any  regard  for  me. 
Observe  1  you  married  this  child  of  sixteen,  lived  with  her 
for  five  or  six  months,  when  she  left  you.  She  became  a 
mother,  and  took  away  her  child  to  a  distant  city,  and  hat 
Absented  herself  for  near  y  two  years,  refusing  to  hold  com* 


4*4  TUB     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

mnnleation  with  yon  or  your  family,  even  by  letter.    Pooh 
pooh  !     Your  marriage  was  a  farce." 

"  Not  so,  sir  1"  said  Louis,  with  a  sort  of  bitter  smile, 
"since  we  have  a  daughter  who  is  heiress  to  two  immense  es- 
tates that  comprise  more  than  one  half  of county, 

and  are  valued  at  nearly  two  millions  I" 

"Hum  I  you  might  marry  again  and  have  a  son,  a  Prince 
of  Wales  might  disinherit  the  Princess  Royal.  Zounds, 
sir  !  this  girl  has  abandoned  yon  with  the  levity  of  a  mis- 
tress. Treat  the  case  even  so.  Divorce  her ;  settle  prop- 
erty on  her;  and  forget  her — as  a  paid-off  mistress." 

The  pallid  brow  of  Louis  Stuart-Gordan  flushed  to  crim- 
son, as  he  replied — 

"Enough,  sir  I  I  will  not.  The  honor  of  my  wife  and 
daughter  are  dearer  to  me  than  my  own  ;"  and,  lifting  hie 
hat  from  the  table,  he  bowed  and  left  the  room. 

"  I  wonder  if  I  could  not  get  a  writ  of  lunacy  out  against 
that  young  gentleman  1"  exclaimed  General  Stuart-Gordon, 
testily,  as  he  rose  to  join  the  ladies. 

A  month  passed  away — a  month  during  which  nothing 
more  was  heard  of  the  Mont  Crystal  family.  Then  General 
Stuart-Gordon,  accompanied  by  all  his  family  and  Miss 
Somerville,  went  to  spend  August  and  September  at  the 
Bea-shore.  They  returned  to  The  Isle  of  Rays  about  the 
middle  of  October. 

Gorgeously  beautiful  was  The  Isle  of  Rays  in  early  au- 
tumn. The  scarlet  foliage  of  the  oak,  the  golden  leaves  of 
the  hickory,  the  rich  purple  hue  of  the  dogwood-tree,  and 
the  bright  dark  green  of  the  pine  and  cedar,  all  growing 
tall  from  the  Isle,  made  it  resemble  from  a  distance  a  large 
and  splendid  bouquet,  set  in  the  clear  waters. 

The  family  returned  in  renewed  life  to  their  gorgeon* 
home.  Even  Louis,  by  the  healthful  ministrations  of  nature 
and  the  soothing  companionship  of  his  good  angel,  Susan, 
WM  riiibly  improved  in  health  and  spirit*. 


LITTLE     BBI6HTT.  446 

It  wa*  late  in  the  afternoon  of  a  glorious  day,  just  cool 
enongh  to  make  the  prospect  of  home,  a  blazing  fire,  and  a 
warm  supper,  highly  inviting ;  and  twilight  was  gathering 
duskily  on,  giving  the  neighborhood  a  sweet,  dim,  myste- 
rious obscurity ;  and  the  wind  was  rising  in  the  northwest, 
with  that  shrill,  hollow  blast  so  pleasant  to  bear  in  the  early 
winter,  when  one  has  a  snug  fireside,  and  new  warm-hued 
autumn  dresses,  waiting  to  be  enjoyed — when  the  large 
family  carriage  stopped  before  the  portico  at  the  Island 
mansion. 

Lights  were  glowing  through  the  crimson-curtained  win- 
dows of  the  drawing-room  ;  and  as  the  carriage  approached, 
a  perfect  flood  of  radiance  poured  from  the  hall  doors,  that 
were  flung  wide  open  by  Gertrude  Lion,  who  bounded  out 
to  welcome  the  new-comers,  as  they  descended  from  the  car- 
riage. She  caught  Britannia  in  her  arms  first. 

"  Oh  I  Brighty,  you  are  so  handsome  !  your  check  is  like 
a  carnation  rose  1  And  you,  too,  Susan,  you  are  blooming 
like  a  peach  blossom  1  And  Louis  !"  roared  the  Amazon, 
breaking  into  a  loud  laugh,  "  I  vow  and  declare — how  Louis 
does  grow — if  he  is  not  almost  a  man.  And  you,  General," 
exclaimed  she,  starting  back,  and  clapping  her  hands — 
"you,  General!  drums  and  fifes  I  steeds  and  spurs!  how 
grand — how  snblime — how  heavy  and  pompous  you  look ! 
Oh  1  General  Stuart-Gordon,  shake  hands  with  me,  that  I 
may  catch  some  of  the  glorification,  as  school-children  catch 
the—" 

Here  General  Stuart-Gordon  interrupted  her,  by  starting 
.forward  and  offering  a  warm  response  to  this  saucy  Baluta* 
tion.  But  the  beautiful  giantess  arrested  bim  by  one 
strong  grip  of  the  shoulder,  and  held  him  with  one  hand, 
while  she  lifted  the  other,  and  raising  her  snowy  finger, 
shook  it  admonishingly  at  him,  as  she  said,  with  a  queer 
mixture  of  fun  and  solemnity — 

«  2f-n-o — you — don't  I    I'm  not  Zoe,  nor  Louiga      My 


446  THE     XOTH1B-IN-LAW. 

Hp§  are  not  as  common  as  a  barber's  chair !  Everybody 
has  their  pet  pride.  You  are  proud  of  your  military  fam« 
— of  a  name  that  will  blaze  down  the  centuries,  illuminating 
the  history  of  our  country.  Britannia  is  proud  of  herself- — 
Britannia !  Mrs.  Armstrong  is  proud  of  her  pride.  1 
also  am  proud." 

"  It  must  be  of  your  incredible  strength,  my  audacioui 
beanty  1" 

"  It  is  this — that  my  lips  have  never  been  stained  by  a 
falsehood,  or  touched  by  a  kiss !  No,  never,  even  in  my 
loving  childhood  ;  and  that  which  made  the  sorrow  of  the 
child,  makes  the  glory  of  the  woman  !  There ;  I've  made 
my  speech ;  and  now  you'll  understand,  sir,  that  if  in  your 
exceeding  great  affectionateness,  you  were  to  deprive  me  of 
that  glory — there  would  be  a  row  !" 

And  the  Amazon  relaxed  her  hold,  gathered  up  her  fall- 
Ing  torrent  of  golden  hair,  and  fastening  it,  stepped  back  to 
let  them  pass  to  the  house.  General  Stuart-Gordon 
Iftughed  heartily,  as  he  drew  the  arm  of  Britannia  through 
His  own,  and  walked  into  the  house.  Louis  followed,  with 
Susan  on  one  arm,  and  leading  little  Brighty  by  the  other 
hand.  Gertrude  shook  hands  with  the  coachman,  patted 
the  horses'  heads — bespoke  for  them  a  good  supper  and  a 
good  rubbing  down — and  then  sprung  with  three  bounds 
into  the  house.  The  travelers  had  retired  to  their  rooms, 
to  change  their  dresses.  Zoe,  after  having  welcomed  the 
party,  had  gone  into  the  wainscoted  parlor  to  await  them. 

This  room  was  the  very  perfection  of  comfort.  The  dark 
and  polished  oak  walls,  the  crimson  carpet,  curtains  and 
chair  cov«rs,  and  the  blazing  hickory  fire,  all  imparted  a 
glowing  and  genial  warmth.  The  tea-table  was  set,  and 
the  wax-candles  on  the  mantelpiece  shone  down  upon  the 
dazzling  white  damask  cloth  and  the  glittering  silver  tea- 
service.  Zoe  was  tripping  about,  receiving  dishes  from  the 
waiter  as  he  brought  them  in,  and  arranging  them  on  th« 


LITTLE     BRIGH  T  Y.  447 

table.  At  last,  all  was  ready,  and  Zoe  rang  a  peal  of  belli. 
Soou  Britannia  and  Susan  entered,  looking  charmingly  in 
their  first  fall  dresses — Sasan  in  a  dark  slate-colored  silk, 
and  Britannia  in  a  rich  purple  satin.  They  were  attended 
by  the  General  and  Louis.  Never  was  a  more  genial  and 
cheerful  company  assembled  around  a  social  tea-table  in  a 
comfortable  parlor.  Even  Louis  glanced,  and  smiled,  and 
talked — and  the  ghost  of  Mrs.  Armstrong  and  her  victim 
rhild  was  not  suffered  to  intrude,  for  that  one  evening  at  least. 

"  Now  think  of  that  dear  little  girl  taking  it  into  her 
gentle  heart  to  come  over  here  to  prepare  for  us,  and  wel- 
come us  home  1"  exclaimed  the  General,  looking  with  affec- 
tion at  Zoe. 

"  How  came  yon  to  think  of  it,  darling  ?"  inquired  Bri- 
tannia. 

"  Why — because  it  is  so  dismal,  coming  home  to  a  cold, 
dark  house,  with  no  one  but  the  servants,  though  they  are 
warm-hearted  poor  creatures,  to  welcome  you.  Coming 
home  should  be  a  festival ;  and  so  I  told  Gertrude  that  we 
would  come  over  here  and  make  some  cakes  and  jellies,  and 
have  things  bright  and  nice,  and  give  you  a  family-wel- 
come. Besides,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  was  pining  for  a 
little  extra  housekeeping  flourishes.  I  was  dying  to  make 
jellies  and  cakes.  Gertrude,  though  she  hates  everything 
of  the  kind,  indulges  me  in  everything ;  so  dear  Gertrude 
came  over  here  with  me,  to  keep  me  in  countenance." 

The  evening  passed  in  gay  conversation.  Gertrude  and 
Zoe  had  a  million  questions  to  ask,  and  a  million  of  items 
of  neighborhood  news  to  relate.  Nevertheless,  as  the  ladies 
were  somewhat  fatigued,  they  retired  early.  Then  General 
Stuart-Gordon  and  Louis  sen ;  for  the  mail-bag,  which  wa§ 
emptied  on  the  table  between  them.  There  were  a  number 
of  business  letters  of  various  dates  within  the  week  past, 
bat  these  were  soon  thrust  aside,  when  one,  directed  in  the 
hand  of  Mrs.  Armstrong  to  Louis  Stuart-Gordon,  and  bear* 


448  THE     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

ing  &  black  seal,  caught  their  eyes.  Louis  seized  and  tort 
this  letter  open  with  a  trembling  hand.  It  was  from  Mra. 
Armstrong,  and  read  as  follows  : — 

"RICHMOND,  September  15,  18 — . 

"Ma.  Louis  STUART-GORDON:  It  becomes  my  painful 
duty  to  break  the  long  silence  maintained  heretofore  between 
us,  by  announcing  to  you  the  demise  of  your  infant  daugh- 
ter, Margaret,  who  died  of  scarlet  fever,  after  an  illness  of 
six  days,  and  upon  the  12th  instant. 

"  I  presume  any  offers  of  condolence  on  ray  part  would  be 
a  work  of  supererogation.  Yon  will  not  probably  be  incon- 
•olable  for  the  loss  of  a  child,  after  whose  welfare  you  have 
never  once  inquired — " 

"  Never  once  inquired  I"  interrupted  General  Stuart-Gor- 
don indignantly.  "  Why,  was  ever  such  a  consummate  piece 
of  hypocrisy  as  that  ?  when  she  knows  she  has  received  let- 
ters monthly,  weekly,  sometimes  daily,  from  you.  But  I 
tee  !  she  is  cautious  not  to  commit  herself.  Go  on  Louis. '; 
Louis  passed  his  hand  once  or  twice  over  his  brow,  and 
resumed  the  perusal  of  the  letter. 

"  The  last  tie  that  binds  you  to  my  unhappy  child  is  thua 
cut  in  twain.  You  can  now  have  no  excuse  for  retaining 
a  claim  upon  the  hand  of  one  whose  peace  depends  upon 
your  freeing  her.  You  surely  cannot  value  the  possession 
of  one  whom  you  have  never  written  to — " 

"  She  actually  wishes  to  make  us  believe  that  she  has  re« 
eeived  none  of  our  letters!"  again  interrupted  the  General 
" Read  on,  Louis." 

Louis  finished  the  letter,  the  remainder  being  a  consum- 
mate piece  of  eloquence,  by  which,  without  descetding  from 
her  pride,  she  artfully  appei.led,  now  to  his  disinterested  love, 
now  to  his  chivalric  devotion,  and  all  to  one  end — what  sh« 
tailed  the  emancipation  of  her  heart-broken  child. 

"  New,  then,  what  do  yon  intend  to  do,  Loaia  F 


LITTLE     BRIGHT  T.  449 

"  My  daughter  is  gone  1"  Louis  buried  his  face  in  hii 
hands  for  a  few  moments,  and  then  rising,  said — "  Yes,  I 
will  write  to  this  poor  sorrowing  young  mother  I  I  will 
write  to  her,  and  ascertain  if  I  can  by  any  means  promote 
her  happiness" — and,  excusing  himself,  he  retired  to  his 
own  apartment,  where  he  spent  the  night  in  writing  a  long, 
passionate,  and  eloquent  letter  to  his  wife,  expressing  hi? 
earnest  sympathy,  his  deep  affection,  his  infinite  patience, 
his  willingness  still  to  wait,  and  hope  for  their  future  re- 
union— his  resolution  to  renounce  that  hope,  if  her  peace 
of  mind  demanded  the  sacrifice.  He  closed  by  beseeching 
her  to  reflect  deliberately,  prayerfully  before  she  decided. 
This  letter  was  mailed  the  next  morning. 

The  news  of  the  death  of  the  little  girl  was  announced 
the  next  morning  after  breakfast.  It  threw  a  gloom  over 
the  heretofore  merry  family  party.  Britannia  clasped  her 
own  child  with  tremulous  affection  close  to  her  bosom,  as 
she  wept  in  pity  of  Louise.  Susan  Somerville  wished  to 
return  home,  but  General  Stuart-Gordon  would  upon  no  ac- 
count hear  of  it.  "  You  must  not  leave  Louis  now,  my 
dear  young  lady.  You  alone,  of  all  the  world,  understand 
and  know  how  to  console  Louis.  He  loves  you  as  his  twin 
sister ;  do  not  leave  him  just  now,"  he  said,  "  and  you 
shall  never  leave  him  if  I  can  prevent  it,"  he  resolved. 

Miss  Somerville  was  thus  constrained  to  remain.  Zoe 
also  remained  to  make  up  the  mourning ;  but  Gertrude,  who 
had  a  mortal  repugnance  to  grave  faces  and  bombazine 
dresses,  fled  from  a  spot  where  she  felt  unhappy  without 
being  able  to  alleviate  the  nnhappiness  of  others. 

Louis  had  scarcely  expected  an  answer  to  his  letter  for  • 
week  or  two.  He  was  surprised  to  receive  a  reply  by  re- 
torn  mail.  It  was  from  Mrs.  Armstrong,  stating  that  she 
wrote  at  the  request  of  her  daughter,  who  was  too  ill  to 
write  herself.  The  letter  assured  Mr.  Stuart-Gordon  that 
the  happiness — nay,  the  very  life  of  Louise.,  deoended  UDOP 


460  T  H  1     MOTHERIN-LAW. 

tor  deliverance  from  her  matrimonial  ties.  A  single  lir* 
at  the  bottcm  of  the  letter  was  in  the  hand  of  Louise, 
though  the  letters  were  nearly  illegible,  looking  as  though 
they  were  written  with  a  tremulous  hand.  This  was  the 
Bme: — 

"Ye*,  Louis,  my  happiness,  my  repose,  depends  upon 
your  complying  with  the  request  contained  in  this  letter. 

"  LOUISE  SlUAKT-GORDON." 

"  It  is  done,"  exclaimed  Louis,  growing  deadly  pale. 

The  Legislature  met  in  December.  Among  the  firut 
petitions  presented  was  that  of  Louis  Stuart-Gordou.  His 
case  was  so  well  known — had  excited  so  much  general  sym- 
pathy, that  the  divorce  that  had  been  indignantly  refused 
to  the  petition  of  Louise,  was  at  once  granted  to  the  appli- 
cation of  Louis.  The  bill  passed  without  a  dissenting 
Toico. 

It  was  Christmas  at  The  Isle  of  Rays,  and  all  the  neigh- 
borhood was  assembled  there  to  spend  the  holidays.  It  was 
the  day  after  Christmas,  at  night,  that  a  large  party  were 
gathered  together  in  the  drawing-room,  when  Mr.  Turner, 
the  solicitor  of  Louis,  was  announced.  Louis  immediately 
retired  with  him  to  the  library,  where  the  solicitor  laid 
before  him  a  copy  of  the  act  dissolving  his  marriage.  Pre- 
pared as  he  had  been  for  this — the  announcement — the 
printed  bill  before  him — like  the  sight  of  the  fabled  Gorgon, 
teemed  turning  him  to  stone.  lie  gazed,  without  reading, 
for  the  letters  swam  before  him.  All  had  seemed  unreal 
till  now.  He  had  seemed  to  have  lived  in  a  dream  till  now. 
How  the  terrible,  the  strange  reality,  that  Louise,  his  be- 
loved wife— Louise,  his  own  from  infancy  up,  still  loving 
was  nothing  to  him — swam  in  upon  his  brain  with  a  force 
Of  conviction  that  again  overpowered  bit  delicate  argaaixa- 


LIITLB     BBIGHTY.  461 

lion,  and  with  a  heart-bursting  groan,  Louis  fell  forward 
upon  his  face.  A  long  and  severe  spell  of  illness  followed 
the  events  of  this  evening.  Miss  Somerville  remained  and 
nursed  him.  She  alone,  of  all  the  family,  possessed  the 
power  of  soothing  him.  Even  in  his  wildest  delirium,  hii 
frenzy  was  best  controlled  by  the  gentle  voice  and  soft  hand 
of  Susan.  He  could  not  bear  to  miss  that  gentle  sedative 
tone  and  touch.  He  would  lie  for  hours  quiet,  with  the 
hand  of  Susan  on  his  brow ;  but  if  she  left  him  for  an  hour, 
to  take  needful  rest  or  food,  Louis  would,  with  the  thought- 
lessness or  selfishness  of  illness,  grow  restive,  and  fret  him- 
self  into  a  fever. 

In  truth,  the  gentle  and  considerate  Louis  Stuart-Gordon 
ras  thoughtlessly  cruel  but  to  one  being  on  earth — to  the 
one  who  lovea  him  most  strongly,  purely,  and  disinterest- 
edly, of  all  the  world.  How  many  spoiled  children,  old 
and  young,  resemble  Louis  in  that  particular.  With  every 
effort  Miss  Somerville  would  make  to  return  to  The  Crags, 
Louis  would  suffer  a  relapse.  Poor  Susan  I  She  was  not 
his  happiness — only  his  comforter ;  not  his  health — only  his 
nurse ;  not  his  pleasure — only  the  anodyne  of  his  pain. 
Yet  not  now,  as  formerly,  did  the  life  she  gave  Louis  depart 
from  her  own  soul.  Susan  was  calm,  strong,  and  mistrwa 
of  herself  now.  Her  love  was  now  so  high  and  pare  that 
•he  could  have  resigned  him  without  a  pang  to  aoy  other 
•ore  beloved 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

THE     TRAVELERS. 

"  She  stV.l  go  east,  she  shall  go  west, 

To  seek  for  that  she  shall  not  find— 
A  heart  at  peace  with  Hi  own  thought*, 
A  quiet  and  contented  mind." — London. 

Mas.  ARMSTRONG,  from  the  time  of  her  leaving  Mcnt 
Crystal,  seemed  possessed  with  a  perfect  furore  for  travei- 
fng.  She  who,  until  near  her  fortieth  year,  had  lived  entireif 
in  one  sumptuous  but  retired  home,  now  with  the  stranet 
restlessness  of  remorse,  or  fear,  or  both,  wandered  from  city 
to  city,  with  a  troop  of  attendants,  equal  in  number  to  a 
queen's  retinue.  Only  she  avoided  the  Northern  cities,  to 
which  she  could  not  carry  her  slaves.  Mrs.  Armstrong 
abhorred  the  attendance  of  any  one  over  whom  she  did  no« 
possess  absolute  control.  Her  winters  were  passed  at  New 
Orleans,  Charleston,  (South  Carolina,)  Washington  City. 
or  Richmond,  and  her  summers  at  the  Capes,  the  various 
Sulphur  Springs  of  Virginia,  or  at  other  fashionable  South- 
ern watering-places.  And  everywhere,  the  majestic  grace 
of  the  mother,  and  the  fragile  beauty  of  the  daughter,  at- 
tracted great  attention.  It  was  in  February  of  the  first 
winter  of  their  wanderings,  that^they  found  themselves  in  a 
suite  of  apartments  in  the  most  fashionable  hotel  in  Wasn- 
ington.  It  was  the  long  session  of  Congress,  and  the  oitr 
was  very  full  of  strangers.  Mrs.  Armstrong  had  her  rooms  fk- 
ted  up  with  ostentatious  magnificence,  and  soon  found  herself 
and  her  daughter  "the  cynosure  of  neighboring  eyes."  Mrs. 
Stuart-Gordon  was  supposed  to  be  a  wealthy  young  widow. 
ttftl) 


THE     TRAVELERS.  468 

Louise  excited  a  very  general  interest;  her  extreme  y>;mth, 
her  fragile  beauty,  her  deep  melancholy  and  habitual  absence 
of  mind,  were  an  inexhaustible  subject  of  surprise  and  com- 
miseration. In  the  deep  blue  eyes  of  Louise  brooded  an 
eternal  sorrow  ;  the  lids  seemed  heavy  with  suspended  tears 
that  yet  never  fell.  This  was  of  course  supposed  to  be  the 
grief  of  a  youthful  widow,  mourning  for  the  premature  loss 
of  her  husband.  And  without  committing  herself  by  saying 
it  directly,  Mrs.  Armstrong  favored  the  opinion  by  impli- 
cation. 

Among  the  many  who  from  various  motives  paid  great 

attention  to  the  mother  aud  daughter,  was  Mrs.  M , 

the  lady  of  the  President.     Mrs.  M was  perhaps  the 

most  dignified  and  gracious  of  all  the  ladies  that  ever  pre- 
sided at  the  White  House.  Certainly  her  general  affability 
made  her  the  most  popular.  It  was  at  a  public  reception 
that  she  first  saw  the  pale  young  beauty  who,  to  her  eyes, 
seemed  a  sorrow-stricken  orphan  child,  scarcely  old  enough 
to  be  presented  ;  but  when  she  was  presented  as  Mrs. 
Stuart-Gordon,  and  when  she  understood  that  the  broken- 
spirited  girl  was  a  widow,  all  the  sympathies  of  her  benevo- 
lent heart  went  out  to  her.  Louise,  also,  by  a  corresponding 

instinct,  was  attracted  to  this  lady,  forcibly.     Mrs.  M 

occasionally  went  to  the  parties  given  by  the  ladies  of  the 
members  of  the  Cabinet,  and  here  she  sometimes  met 
Louise;  and  even  in  the  thickest  crowd,  Louise  would  find 
herself,  she  scarcely  knew  how,  in  the  immediate  circle  of 

the  President's  lady.     Mis.  M ,  quick  to  discern  and 

prompt  to  distinguish  excellence  of  character,  had  another 
profe</£.  This  was  young  Frobisher,  the  secretary  of  lega- 
tion, whose  high  intelligence,  and,  more  than  that,  whose 
deep  sensibilities,  attached  her  to  him  with  an  almost  mater- 
nal tenderness.  Louise  was  frequently  admitted  to  the 

domestic  privacy  of  Mrs.  M 's  apartments.     Here  she 

o*teu  met  young  Frobisher,  who  more  than  anj  other  per* 
28 


464  T  H  1     MOTHKR-IjN-LJLW. 

•on,  deeply  sympathized  with  her  sorrows.  Louise  waa 
reserved,  and  Frobisher  was  almost  distant,  in  his  veneration 
for  that  reserve.  And  when  he  had  occasion  to  address  her, 
there  was  a  deep-toned  tenderness  and  respect  in  his  voice, 
that  spoke  to  the  heart  of  the  sorrowing  one,  and  the  glance 
and  voice  of  Louise  revealed  the  gratitude  that  her  words 
failed  to  express.  I  am  afraid  that  all  married  ladies  are, 
more  01  less,  match-makers.  After  having  finished  up  their 
own  marriage,  they  set  about,  from  various  motives  of  be- 
nevolence, interest,  or  the  want  of  amusement  or  occupation, 
to  make  up  the  matches  of  friends  and  acquaintances.  Cer- 
tainly, it  was  from  motives  of  benevolence  that  Mrs. 

M wished  and  hoped  that  the  deep  sympathy  of 

young  Frobisher  might  ripen  into  a  warmer  sentiment,  and 
that  the  supposed  young  widow  might  be  able  to  find  con- 
solation in  the  affection  of  so  amiable  a  youth.  And  there 
was  the  attraction  of  sympathy  on  the  one  side,  and  the 
need  of  it  on  the  other,  that  drew  this  young  man  and 
woman  forcibly  together.  It  was  not  love,  but  one  of  those 
illusive  counterfeits  of  love,  that  often  deceive  both  subject 
and  object.  It  was  near  the  close  of  the  session  of  Con- 
gress, that  is  to  say,  upon  the  first  of  June,  that  young 
Frobisher  presented  himself  at  the  lodgings  of  Mrs.  Arm- 
strong, and  requested  a  private  audience.  Here  be  made  a 
formal  announcement  of  his  regard  for  Mrs.  Stuart-Gordon, 
and  requested  permission  to  pay  his  addresses  to  her. 

Mrs.  Armstrong  bowed  haughtily  in  acknowledgment 
of  this  honor,  and  coldly  requested  information  as  to  hii 
fortune  and  prospects,  stating  that  she  had  heard  a  rumoi 
of  his  recall  by  the  British  Government.  Mr.  Frobisher 
informed  her  that  he  was  recalled,  at  his  own  request — 
preferred  for  the  following  reasons,  namely:  that  he  had 
recently  purchased  the  estates  of  Clonmachnois,  and  that 
he  wish<«l  to  return  to  Ireland,  for  the  purpose  of  impror  • 
fabg  the  lands  and  the  condition  of  bis  tenantry :  and  also 


THK    TBAVKLIR8.  406 

to  apply  for  the  reversion  of  the  title  of  Earl  of  Clonmach* 
nois,  the  title  of  Countess  having  been  voluntarily  renounced 
by  Mrs.  Stuart-Gordon,  by  the  sale  of  her  patrimony  and 
by  her  self-expatriation  from  her  fatherland.  The  heart  of 
the  haughty  woman  bounded  at  this  announcement.  Some- 
thing of  this  Irish  earldom  she  had  heard  before,  bnt  no- 
thing with  certainty,  so  that  she  bad  been  altogether 
incredulous.  Now,  however,  there  was  no  doubting  the 
fact ;  and  a  flush  of  malign  triumph  crimsoned  her  cheek, 
as  she  thought  that,  notwithstanding  all  their  humiliations, 
Louise  would  at  last  wear  the  title  and  the  coronet  that 
might  have  graced  Britannia's  brow.  Concealing  her  joy, 
however,  she  spoke  of  her  daughter's  deep  sorrow,  that  was 
only  now  beginning  to  yield  to  time,  and  to  the  sympathy 
of  friends.  She  knew,  she  said,  of  her  daughter's  high 
esteem  of  Mr.  Frobisher — nay,  more,  of  her  affection,  yet 
unacknowledged  to  her  own  heart,  jealous  of  its  fidelity, 
and  superstitious  in  its  devotion  to  a  first  love,  yet  plainly 
visible  to  the  solicitous  love  of  her  mother.  Yet  she  feared 
that  Louise,  in  her  religious  attachment  to  a  mere  memory, 
might  renounce  the  happiness  within  her  reach.  In  fine, 
she  requested  time  to  ascertain  her  daughter's  sentiments 
upon  this  projected  marriage,  before  presenting  Mr.  Fro- 
bisher to  her  as  a  suitor.  Forced  to  accept  this  for  a 
present  answer,  Mr.  Frobisher  bowed  and  took  hia  leave, 
his  rather  moderate  inclination  for  "the  pale  young  widow'' 
some  what  increased  by  the  prospect  of  a  little  opposition. 

The  reader  knows,  as  well  ag  I  do,  that  she  only  wished 
an  opportunity  of  laying  her  despotic  commands  upon 
Louise.  The  reader  knows,  as  well,  how  this  interview 
was  likely  to  terminate.  Worn  out  by  a  long,  long  sorrow, 
now  quite  incapable  of  opposing  any  one,  much  less  her 
imperious  mother,  and  quite  in  despair,  Louise  yielded, 
though  her  whole  nature  revolted  at  the  projected  marriage. 
It  was  some  relief  to  her,  to  know  that  Frobisher  was  going 


4W  TH1     MOTH1B-IN-LAW. 

wo  England,  to  remain  for  at  least  twelve  months,  before 
be  returned  to  claim  her  hand.  "  Who  knows  ?"  she  said 
to  herself;  "  perhaps  I  may  die  before  he  comes  back,  or  he 
may  be  shipwrecked?"  for  she  almost  loathed  the  youth 
whom,  previous  to  this  engagement,  she  had  loved  with  a 
•isterly  affection. 

As  for  Frobisher,  he  went  away  completely  deceived— 
entirely  believing  his  betrothed  to  be  a  widow.  Once, 
indeed,  he  had  casually  inquired  if  the  late  Mr.  Stuart- 
Gordon,  was  not  a  connection  of  the  Stuart-Gordons  of  The 
Isle  of  Rays.  Mrs.  Armstrong  replied,  quietly,  that  her 
late  son-in-law  was  a  connection  of  that  family.  And  the 
subject  was  dropped. 

Perhaps  nothing  on  earth  but  the  prospect  of  a  title  and 
coronet  would  have  induced  Mrs.  Armstrong  to  compel 
her  daughter  to  renounce,  by  a  divorce,  her  claim  upon  the 
immense  Island  estate.  Nothing  but  two  such  powerful 
passions  as  ambition  and  hatred,  coupled  with  a  desire  for 
revenge,  and  acting  upon  the  mind  of  a  supremely  haughty 
and  unscrupulous  woman,  could  have  impelled  her  to  the 
daring  career  of  crime  into  which  she  at  once  entered.  To 
have  her  daughter  once  legally  divorced,  and  legally  and 
magnificently  remarried — to  have  that  once  accomplished, 
ahe  was  audacious  enough  to  defy  all  evil  consequences  to 
herself.  There  is  nothing  more  wonderful  in  the  history  of 
erime,  than  the  fatuity  with  which  a  criminal  dares  almost 
certain  detection  and  disgrace.  It  was  in  this  frame  of 
mind  that  she  went  to  Richmond,  Virginia,  where  the 
Legislature  was  still  in  session,  and  where  she  forced  Louise 
to  memorialize  that  body  for  a  divorce. 

We  have  seen  how  the  shallow  petition  was  at  once  re- 
jected. Mortified  and  alarmed  at  this  failure,  Mrs.  Arm- 
strong determined  to  act  upon  the  other  party — to  induce 
Louis  Stuart-Gordon,  if  possible,  to  petition  the  Legislature 
Umielf.  Hi*  petition,  she  felt  sure,  would  be  received. 


*HK     TRAVELERS.  457 

There  are  few  secrets  in  a  family  where  there  are  many 
servants.  Mrs  Armstrong  had  another  line  of  communica- 
tion with  The  Isle  of  Rays  besides  that  of  Louis's  occasional 
notes,  which  she  invariably  read  and  put  into  the  fire,  -with- 
out communicating  them  to  Louise.  She  had  left  her 
faithful  coadjutor,  Kate  in  the  neighborhood,  and  it  was 
rather  through  the  gossiping  propensities  of  poor  old  Serry, 
than  from  the  treachery  of  any  of  the  servants,  that  the 
conversation  of  Louis  with  the  General,  in  which  the  former 
expressed  his  determination  of  taking  no  step  that  should 
affect  the  future  happiness  of  her  daughter,  was  reported  in 
triumph  to  Kate,  and  conveyed  to  Mrs.  Armstrong  at 
Richmond. 

It  was  then  that  Mrs.  Armstrong  put  in  practice  the 
most  daring  and  adroit  deception  that  ever  Satan  suggested 
to  self.  It  was  now  late  in  July,  and  under  a  pretense  of 
relieving  Louise  from  the  care  of  her  child,  she  sent  the 
former  to  the  sea-shore  for  change  of  air,  and  kept  the  latter 
at  home.  It  was  while  lingering  out  her  weary  days  at 
Old  Point  Comfort  that  Louise  received  a  letter  from  her 
mother,  recalling  her  to  the  sick-bed  of  her  child,  who,  she 
said,  was  lying  dangerously  ill  of  scarlet  fever.  Louise 
hurried  at  once  to  Richmond,  but  was  told  on  her  arrival 
that  the  babe  was  dead  and  buried ;  that  the  danger  of  in- 
fection had  induced  the  necessity  of  a  speedy  interment. 
Shock  after  shock  had  nearly  paralyzed  the  sensibilities  of 
the  poor  young  woman,  so  that  the  impression  made  by  this 
last  blow  was  not  so  deep  as  in  other  circumstances  it  might 
have  been. 

"Oh  1  I  shall  soon  follow  !"  was  all  she  said,  with  a  tear- 
less eye,  and  a  wan  smile. 

She  was  conveyed  to  her  bed  in  a  state  of  nerroug  ex- 
haustion, that  prostrated  her  for  many  weeks.  It  wai 
daring  her  illness  that  Mrs.  Armstrong  wrote  to  Louia 
announcing  the  death  of  his  daughter,  and  assuring  him  that 


<58  THI     MOTKKR-IK-LAW. 

•fle  peace  of  Louise  depended  npon  her  freedom  from  mar- 
riage ties.  The  reader  remembers  that  the  answer  of  Look 
requested  to  see  this  wish  expressed  in  the  handwriting  of 
Louise  herself,  before  he  would  consent  to  act  npon  it 
Mrs.  Armstrong  smiled  grimly  to  herself,  and  sitting  down, 
wrote  the  letter  describing  the  exhausted  state  of  her 
daughter's  health,  and  reiterating  the  assurance  that  not 
only  the  peace  of  mind  and  health  of  body,  but  that  the 
very  life  of  her  daughter  hung  upon  his  answer.  This 
letter  she  took  to  the  bedside  of  Louise.  Louise  was  lying 
with  her  two  emaciated  hands  upon  her  pallid  brow,  shut- 
ting out  the  light  from  her  eyes.  Sitting  down  by  her  side, 
ghe  laid  her  own  cold  hand  over  those  of  her  daughter,  and 
said,  "  How  are  you  now,  my  love  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,  mother,"  heavily  sighed  the  invalid,  with- 
out uncovering  her  eyes. 

"Louise,  ray  love,  would  you  like  to  see  Lonis  ?" 

The  effect  of  this  question  upon  the  poor  girl  was  like 
that  of  a  galvanic  battery  on  a  corpse.  She  started  up  witL 
ft  spasmodic  motion,  and  looked  intently  into  the  face  of  hei 
mother. 

"I  inquired  if  yon  would  like  to  see  Louis,  my  love." 

"  Like  to  see  Louis  !     Oh,  mother  I" 

"  Well,  my  child,  in  consideration  of  our  late  and  common 
bereavement,  and  of  your  precarious  state  of  health,  I  have 
written  to  Louis  to  come  and  visit  us." 

"  Oh,  mother,  have  you  ?  May  the  Lord  of  Mercy  bless 
fon  1  bless  you !  bless  yon  1  my  own  good  mother !"  cried 
Louise,  throwing  herself  from  the  pillow  upon  her  bosom. 

"  Calm  yourself,  my  child,  calm  yourself,"  said  the  mother, 
reaching  a  cordial  from  a  table  at  hand,  and  holding  it  to 
the  lips  of  her  daughter. 

Then  she  laid  her  back  upon  the  pillow.  Her  eyes  were 
ihi'iing  like  stars,  and  there  was  a  bright  hectic  spot  on  each 
cheefc,  as  she  smilingly  said — "I  see  how  it  is,  mother:  you 


THK     TBAYBLERS.  469 

know  that  I  am  dyiug,  and  you  are  willing  for  me  to  tak« 
leave  of  Louis  before  I  go.  Heaven  bless  you,  mother! 
Look  out  the  window,  mother.  It  has  been  cloudy  all  day 
long.  Look  at  the  west,  where  the  heavy  dark-blue  clouds 
lower  almost  to  the  verge  of  the  horizon  ;  but  not  quite,  for 
see,  the  shining  sun  illuminates  the  lower  edge  of  this  cloud, 
and  shoots  out  direct  rays  of  glorious  light  aslant  the  earth 
— and  now  it  has  sunk  below  the  horizon.  Even  so,  mother. 
My  life  resembles  this  day — but  you  are  willing  to  provide 
for  me  a  ray  of  sunlight  before  the  night  of  death  falls  on 
me  forever.  God  bless  you,  mother  1" 

Her  eyes  and  cheeks  blazed  with  the  fire  of  fe^er  while 
she  spoke. 

"  My  love  you  must  not  talk  so.  You  are  utterly  mis- 
taken. You  are  young  and  sound,  and  only  suffering  from 
alternate  nervous  excitement  and  exhaustion.  You  will 
recover  your  health.  But  now,  Louise,  you  must  attend  to 
this  matter  in  hand.  I  have  written  to  Louis,  requesting 
him  to  lose  no  time  in  coming  to  see  us.  But,  after  all  that 
has  passed,  Louis  may  not  be  persuaded  to  come  by  me. 
You  must  add  your  request.  I  know  that  you  can  scarcely 
hold  a  pen,  my  dear,  but  you  can  write  one  line,  to  endorse 
what  I  have  written.  Just  write  '  Louis !  my  happiness, 
my  repose,  depend  upon  your  granting  the  request  con- 
tained in  this  letter.' " 

"Give  me  a  pen — quick,  mamma." 

Mrs.  Armstrong  placed  a  portfolio  before  her,  and  sup- 
ported her  in  her  arms,  while  Louise  wrote  with  trembling 
hands,  at  the  foot  of  the  letter,  the  very  words  of  her  mo- 
ther's dictation — 

"Louis!  my  happiness,  my  repose,  depend  upon  you 
granting  the  request  contained  in  this  letter. 

"  LOUISE  STUABT-QQRDOX,"— > 

aud  exhausted  by  the  effort,  faint***  *n4  fell  back. 


460  THE     MOTHKR-IN-L1.W. 

It  was  thus  that  Louis  and  Louise  were  mutually  de* 
ceired. 

It  is  wonderful  how  much  sorrow,  suspense,  and  anxiety, 
she  most  fragile  human  being  can  bear,  before  the  frame 
gives  way.  Breaking  a  heart  is  the  slowest  of  all  methods 
of  torturing  a  soul  to  death.  No  language,  I  am  sure,  can 
describe  the  sufferings  of  Louise  for  the  next  fortnight 
We  have  seen  the  apathy  with  which  she  bore  the  news  of 
he  death  of  her  chill  It  was  the  insensibility  of  the  vic- 
tim exhausted  by  previous  torture.  But  now  a  cordial  had 
been  given  her  in  the  hope  of  a  new  happiness.  This  had 
revived  her  sensibilities,  her  power  of  suffering,  to  a  morbid 
excess.  She  could  not  sleep  at  nights,  nor  rest  during  the 
flay  without  an  opiate,  as  days  and  weeks  passed  without 
Aer  hearing  from  or  seeing  Louis. 

"  He  will  not  lose  time  in  writing — he  will  come  at  once, 
mother,  he  is  so  forgiving — so  magnanimous !"  had  been 
her  first  hopeful  and  enthusiastic  assertion.  "  What  can 
be  the  reason  he  does  not  write,  at  least,  if  anything  pre- 
rents  him  from  coming,  mother  ?"  was  her  despairing  in- 
quiry a  week  later. 

"  Mother,  write  again,  do  write  I  Tell  him  that  I  am 
dying — that  I  shall  never  see  Heaven  if  I  pass  hence  with- 
out his  forgiveness  and  blessing  !" 

And  Mrs.  Armstrong,  to  humor  her,  preUnded  to  write. 

Another  weary  week  of  mental  torture  passed,  and  then 
Louise  pleaded — 

"  Write  once  more,  mother  I  once  more !  Plead  with 
him  1  it  is  not  for  MS  to  be  proud,  if  he  is  justly  obdurate. 
Tell  him  that  I  am  fastened  here  to  a  bed  of  illness — that 
I  cannot  put  my  foot  to  the  ground — that  I  cannot  raise 
my  hand  to  my  head — that,  for  weakness  I  can  scarcely 
make  my  words  audible  even  to  your  listening  ear  I  Tell 
him  that  I  may  not  lire,  and  cannot  die  until  he  blew** 


TXK     TRAVELERS.  *61 

So  the  hearj  weeks  passed  in  torturing  suspense,  or  sor» 
rowfal  pleadings.  So  October  passed.  Louise  had  told 
the  truth.  She  could  not  die.  A  strange  vitality  of  anx- 
iety held  her  life,  as  some  sharp  pains  sometimes  keep  their 
Yictim  from  fainting.  Nay,  more ;  with  good  medical  at- 
tendance, with  the  bracing  air  of  the  fall,  and  the  gradual 
subsidence  of  suspense  into  certainty,  she  recovered  the  toue 
of  her  nervous  system  sufficiently  to  leave  her  bed.  No- 
vember passed.  December  came  ;  and  then  her  mother,  after 
preparing  her  for  it  gradually,  informed  her  of  the  appli- 
cation of  Louis  for  a  divorce.  Louise  received  it  with 
resignation. 

"  It  is  justice,  it  is  justice,"  she  said.  "  I  had  no  right 
to  hope  for  mercy." 

Upon  the  1st  of  January,  Mrs.  Armstrong  placed  in  her 
ftands  the  copy  of  the  bill  of  divorce  that  had  been  for- 
warded to  her. 

"  It  is  over!"  said  Louise,  using  the  very  words  with 
which  Louis  had  received  his  doom ;  and  at  the  very  time 
that  Louis  lay  at  the  point  of  death  with  an  inflammation 
of  the  brain  at  The  Isle  of  Rays,  Louise  was  again  pros 
trated  by  a  low  nervous  fever  at  Richmond. 

"  Well  1"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Armstrong,  with  a  sort  of  dia- 
bolical patience;  "all  this  'weeping,  and  wailing,  and 
gnashing  of  teeth'  is  terribly  disagreeable  ;  it  is  the  duat 
and  smoke  and  smell  of  brimstone,  the  blood  and  groans, 
remaining  after  the  hard-fought  battle  upon  the  field  of 
victory.  Patience!  we  shall  bury  our  dead,  clear  our  field, 
and  then  for  the  triumph — then  for  the  illumination  !  la 
other  words,  Louise  will  wear  through  this  misery  and  ill- 
ness ;  and  then  soon,  in  another  country  and  under  prouder 
circumstances,  onr  minister  shall  present  a  new  Peeress  at 
the  Court  of  St.  James." 

There  was  little  danger  that  Mr.  Probisher  should  be 
prematurely  informed  of  the  real  state  of  affairs  with  hit 


Mi  THE     MOTHKB-IN    LAW. 

betrothed.  Those  were  not  the  days  of  steamships  and 
telegraphs ;  and  little  individual  villainies  perpetrated  in 
Richmond,  Virginia,  were  not  then,  as  now,  common  themes 
of  gossip  in  the  lobbies  of  the  Houses  of  Parliament  ia 
London.  And  for  the  rest,  Mrs.  Armstrong  was  willing 
to  dare  his  after  knowledge  of  her  antecedents,  when  her 
daughter  was  justly  and  legally  bound  to  Frobisher  in  mar- 
riage. 

Letters  from  Mr.  Frobisher  announced  his  expected  re- 
turn to  Washington  in  February.  Thither  Mrs.  Arm- 
strong, accompanied  by  Louise,  went.  They  arrived  at 
Brown's  Hotel  upon  the  first  of  February.  There  they 
found  on  the  list  of  new  arrivals,  the  name  and  title  of  the 
Right  Honorable  James  Frobisher,  Earl  of  Clonmachnois ; 
and  Mrs.  Armstrong's  heart  bounded  with  pride  and  joy 
when  she  saw  it.  The  young  Earl  met  his  betrothed,  after 
an  absence  of  many  months,  with  renewed  affection.  He 
passed  the  evening  in  her  boudoir,  and  pressed  her  to  name 
an  early  day  for  their  marriage.  Mrs.  Armstrong  named 
that  day  three  weeks. 

"  Mother !  Oh,  mother !  that  is  the  twenty-second  of 
February — the  anniversary  of  my  marriage  I" 

"  It  is,  certainly ;  but  I  never  thought  of  it  when  naming 
*he  day  I  What  a  singular  coincidence  I" 


CHAPTER  XXXTII 

LOUI8  AND   SUSAN. 


tTaeaiy  now  becomes  perforce 
Tk«  Inevitable  Intercourse, 

Too  grateful  heretofore: 
Each  In  the  other  can  descry 
The  tone  constraint,  the  alter'd  eye, 
They  know  that  each  to  each  can  seem 

Ho  longer  as  of  yore  ; 
Yet  each,  while  than  estranged,  I  deem 

Eeveres  the  other  more  ; 
Hen  It,  perhnpt,  the  saddest  heart— 
His,  the  more  forced  and  painful  part. — Southey. 


AT  the  earnest  entreaty  of  General  Stuart-Gordon,  Mist 
Bomerville  remained  at  The  Isle  of  Rays  until  the  convales- 
cence of  Louis ;  then  she  took  her  departure  for  her  solitary 
home  on  The  Crags.  It  was  a  bright,  sharp  morning  near 
the  last  of  January  that  she  found  herself  there.  Old 
George  and  Harriet  welcomed  her  home,  with  heartfelt  de- 
light. George  displayed  with  glee  a  bunch  of  birds  that 
he  had  brought  home  for  "  Miss  Susie's"  dinner ;  and  ex- 
hibited with  great  pride  a  vast  pile  of  flag-mats,  baskets, 
sad  children's,  men's,  and  boy's  coarse  straw  hats;  all  the 
work  of  his  hands,  which  he  said  would  bring  sixty  dollars 
when  he  could  take  them  to  market.  And  Harriet  dis- 
played some  of  the  whitest  spun  cotton,  which  she  said 
would  knot  beautiful  fringes  and  toilet  covers.  Both  feared, 
however,  that  "  Miss  Susie"  would  find  the  house  very 
rough,  in  comparison  with  the  beautiful  Island  mansion. 
Miss  Somerville  smiled  away  their  doubts ;  and,  having 
looked  through  her  house  and  then  laid  off  her  riding-habit, 


464  THE     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

she  quietly  settled  herself  with  her  needle-work  by  h« 
lonely  fireside. 

"  I  am  but  twenty-one,"  said  Susan  to  herself,  "and  yt* 
I  begin  to  feel  very  much  like  an  old  maid." 

But  she  did  not  look  so,  with  her  tender  peach-blossom 
cheek,  and  the  silky  black  curls  dropping  soft  shades  npon 
them. 

The  day  was  heavy — it  was  no  nse  to  disguise  the  fact 
Susan  found  it  so  ;  and  often  rising  from  her  seat,  she 
walked  to  the  windows  and  looked  out  from  very  weariness. 
And  as  she  remembered  the  pleasant  family  circle  at  The  Isle 
of  Rays — the  hearty  General,  the  gay  Britannia,  the  spark- 
ling little  Brighty,  and  Louis,  her  prote'gd ;  her  patient,  suf- 
fering, sad,  but  the  more  interesting  on  that  account — Su- 
san nearly  regretted  the  morbid  self-respect  that  forbade  her 
to  yield  to  the  pressing  entreaties  of  the  Stuart-Gordon 
family,  and  take  up  her  residence  among  them. 

Night  closed  around  her,  and  then  more  than  ever  she 
missed  the  social  family  circle  that  nightly  gathered  around 
the  bright  hickory  fire  in  the  oak-paneled  parlor  at  The 
Isle  of  Rays.  She  imagined  them  as  they  sat  there,  after 
the  tea-table  was  cleared  away,  the  General  and  Britannia 
with  the  chess-board  between  them.  The  General,  with  his 
deep,  hearty  laugh,  and  Britannia  with  her  beaming  glance, 
and  half-mocking  smile  ;  and  Louis  ?  what  might  Louis  b^ 
doing  now,  that  she  was  not  there  to  keep  him  alive  ? — re- 
clining back  in  his  crimson  velvet  chair,  watching  the  game 
with  languid  eyes. 

A  wild  blast  of  wind  against  the  window  aroused  her  from 
her  reverie.  She  arose  and  looked  out,  and  found  that  a 
snow  storm  had  suddenly  arisen.  She  resumed  her  seat ;  and 
while  the  tempest  howled  around  the  old  honse,  Susan  felt 
more  desolate  in  her  loneliness  than  ever.  George  came  in 
with  tea  and  toast,  and  a  lighted  candle,  upon  a  waiter 


LOUIS     AND     SUSAN,  445 

He  set  it  down  on  the  table  by  Miss  Somerville's  side,  and 
then  he  quietly  withdrew. 

"The  truth  is,  I  have  no  appetite,"  thought  Susan,  as 
•he  turned  to  her  solitary  meal.  "That  long  sojourn  at 
The  Isle  of  Rays  has  spoiled  me  entirely  ;  I  can  no  longer 
enjoy  a  meal  that  is  at  once  very  frugal  and  very  lonely." 

A  second  and  a  wilder  blast  of  the  storm  startled  Susan 
from  her  chair,  and  at  the  same  moment  the  door  was  pushed 
open,  and  Louis  Stuart-Gordon  suddenly  stepped  into  the 
room,  stamping  the  snow  from  his  boots,  and  throwing  off 
his  sleet-covered  cloak,  and  revealing  his  black  suit,  slight 
figure,  and  pale  face. 

Miss  Somerville  paled  herself. 

"  In  the  name  of  Heaven,  Louis,  what  tempted  you  out 
on  such  a  night  as  this  ?  you,  who  are  barely  convalescent!" 
exclaimed  the  young  nurse  in  displeasure,  as  the  imprudent 
patient  dropped  exhausted  in  a  chair  beside  her. 

41  Do  not  scold,  my  loved  physician ;  the  storm  had  not 
arisen  when  I  set  out — it  overtook  me  at  the  top  of  The 
Crags." 

"Yet  you  should  not  have  left  the  house  upon  any  ac- 
count— no,  not  nntil  spring." 

44  Yon  are  mistaken,  Susan  ;  I  am  stronger  than  yon 
think.  I  am  recovering  rapidly.  Give  me  a  cup  of  your 
nice  tea,  and  it  will  set  me  up  I'' 

Miss  Somerville  went  to  the  othe  door,  called  George, 
and  directed  him  to  bring  another  cup  and  saucer. 

"  I  missed  you — we  all  missed  you  so  much  to-day,  8n« 
Ban,  but  /  most  of  all.  I  seem  to  be  a  supernumerary  at 
Phe  Isle,  now.  In  short,  Susan,  I  was  terribly  bored  with 
my  own  company,  and  having  a  great  deal  of  listless  new§ 
on  hand,  I  have  come  to  bestow  a  part  of  it  on  you.  Have 
patience  with  me,  Susan." 

George  now  entered  with  another  cup  aud  sancer  and 
wore  toast,  and  Susan  ponred  ont  his  tea. 


4*6  TMB     MOTHBB-HT-LAW. 

The  table  was  soon  after  cleared  off,  and  Louis  d«w  lift 
ehair  in  closer  to  the  fire,  while  the  storm  raged  more  fiercely 
around  the  house.  Miss  Somerville  qnietly  pursued  her 
needlework,  but  a  heavy  gloom  lowered  slowly  and  darkly 
upon  her  spirits.  It  was  a  vague  sense  of  error,  or  wrong, 
or  danger,  or  dread — or  all  these  together — that  oppressed 
her.  She  could  not  avoid  sighing  frequently  and  heavily, 
and  glancing  nervously  at  the  windows,  as  she  hoped  and 
prayed  and  watched  for  the  violence  of  the  storm  to  abate. 
Louis,  for  bis  part,  sat  there  looking  the  very  picture  of 
repose  and  contentment.  He  was  silent,  and  sometimes 
rery  abstracted,  seeming  perfectly  satisfied  to  be  near  Susan, 
without  entering  into  conversation  with  her.  A  wild  blast 
of  the  hail-storm  rattled  against  the  windows.  Unable  to 
control  her  nervousness,  Susan  arose  and  put  her  hand  to 
the  latch  of  the  door,  intending  to  look  out,  but  a  furious 
gust  of  wind  blew  it  violently  open — sending  a  tempest  of 
snow  and  hail  into  the  room.  Susan  with  all  her  strength 
was  nnable  to  close  the  door,  and  Louis  had  to  get  up  to 
help  her.  Then  they  resumed  their  seats,  and  then,  for  the 
first  time,  Louis  noticed  her  sullenness. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Susan  ?"  he  inquired  naively. 

"Matter?  nothing,"  replied  Susan,  more  disturbed  than 
ever. 

"  Bat  there  is,  "my  dear  Snssax.  I  have  never — no — nevei 
§een  yon  so  agivaiea  1" 

Susan's  brow  flashed  to  crimson,  sini  she  turned  her  head 
aside.  Louis  took  her  hand,  pressed  it,  and  bending  for- 
ward, looked  searchingly  into  her  eyes. 

"  Susan,  I  never  had  a  sister,  but  you  are  dear  to  me  as 
any  sister  could  be — my  loved  Susan,  tell  me  what  disturbi 
you  ?" 

"  I  am  so  sorry  that  you  risked  your  health  by  exposing 
yourself  to  this  storm !"  replied  Miss  Someiville,  with  • 


LOUIS     AMD     8USAW.  4tf 

Lenii  pressed  her  hand  again,  and  dropped  it.  The  clock 
•track  ten.  Louis  then  arose  and  resumed  his  cloak — and 
took  his  hat. 

Miss  Somerville  started  up.  "  What !  Louis !  you  do 
not  think  of  venturing  out  in  this  horrible  tempest  I" 

"  Assuredly,  Susan  1" 

"  But  you  must  not,  indeed.  Pull  off  your  cloak,  sit 
down,  remain  here.  I  will  have  a  fire  lighted  in  my  g-^and- 
father's  room  for  yon." 

"Do  you  not  understand  that  I  must  return,  Susan-  -n 

"  No — no  I  you  are  mad  to  think  of  it.  You  should  not 
have  come  at  first — but  being  here,  you  SHALL  NOT  depart 
in  the  midst  of  the  night  and  storm." 

"  But  my  dearest  Susan — " 

"  But  Louis,  it  is  as  much  as  your  life  is  worth  !  Sit 
down — be  quiet — don't  fidget  me— I  have  had  trouble 
enough  on  your  account  already — so  sit  down  !  I  am  out 
of  breath." 

Instead  of  sitting  down,  Louis  opened  the  door,  but  a 
violent  blast  of  wind  and  sleet  nearly  blew  him  down,  and 
again  it  took  all  his  strength  to  force  to  the  door.  He 
shut  it,  and  throwing  off  his  cloak,  sat  down.  It  was  lite- 
rally impossible  to  reach  The  Isle  of  Rays  that  night. 

"  Do  you  know,  Susan,  that  with  all  your  gentleness,  yon 
are  very  audacious  in  some  things  ?" 

"  Very,  very  courageous  in  some  things,  Louis !  Yes,  I 
am  when  I  know  I  am  doing  right !  Do  not  be  uneasy, 
Louis.  No  one  will  misunderstand  or  misrepresent  me." 

And  so,  Miss  Somerville  tried  to  think ;  but  as  she  re- 
membered the  censorious  propensities  of  the  neighborhood, 
the  sinking  of  her  heart  belied  her  noble  words.  Never- 
theless, Miss  Somerville,  by  turning  a  guest  out  in  the 
•torn,  would  not  do  a  wrong  to  escape  the  imputation  of 

WTOUf. 


468  THE     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

"  Mr.  Louis,  I  will  trouble  you  for  a  half  hoar's  conver- 
sation with  me  in  ray  study,"  said  General  Stuart-Gordon, 
rising  from  the  breakfast-table,  pushing  back  his  chair,  and 
leading  the  way  thither. 

Louis  arose  and  followed. 

When  they  had  arrived  there,  and  were  seated,  tht 
General  said — 

"  You  spent  last  night  at  The  Crags,  Louis  7" 

"Yes,  sir.     The  storm  prevented  my  return." 

"  The  threatened  storm  should  have  prevented  your  going 
forth,  Louis." 

Louis  bowed  and  remained  silent. 

"You  remained  all  night  at  The  Crags  1  Well,  this  capi 
the  climax.  If  you  do  not  consider  the  question  intrusive, 
Louis,  will  you  favor  me  with  your  reason  for  going  to  The 
Crags  ?» 

"I  went  thither  to  see  Miss  Somerville,  sir." 

"  Hum  1  you  went  thither  to  see  Miss  Somerville.  Louis, 
do  you  know  th*t  yon  are  seriously  compromising  that  poor 
girl?" 

"  SIR  I"  exclaimed  Louis,  starting. 

"  My  dear  Louis,  do  you  know,  or  has  selfishness  blinded 
you,  that  you  cannot  now  visit  Miss  Somerville  so  frequently, 
without  subjecting  her  to  calumny  7" 

"  Heavens  !  sir,  it  cannot  be  so  1" 

"It  is  so.  Miss  Somerville  has  already  been  made  the 
jubject  of  invidious  remarks." 

Louis  grew  very  pale. 

"  Tell  me,  sir  I  by  whom — by  whom  has  Susan  been 
•tendered  ?  If  by  any  living  man,  by  Heaven,  he  shall  pay 
dearly  for  his  temerity — if  by  any  living  woman,  her  father, 
brother,  or  husband,  shall  settle  the  account." 

"  Pooh  !  pooh !  Louis,  I  did  not  say  slander — disparag- 
ing speculations.  Can  you  call  a  man  out  because  his  wife 
•r  daughter  '  wonders/  what  Susan  meant,  and  '  hopes  it  trill 


LOUIS     AND     SUSAN.  469 

afl  end  well.*  Pshaw  J  but,  Louis,  you  are  doing  Susan  a 
more  serious  injnry  than  in  subjecting  her  to  the  gossip  of 
the  neighborhood.  You  are  trifling  with  her  affections, 
Louis." 

"No — no,  sir!  God  knows  that  I  am  not  1  Oh,  my 
father,  for  what  do  you  take  me  ?" 

"For  a  heart-sick,  brain-sick,  thoughtlessly  selfish,  and 
cruel  young  man. " 

"  In  the  name  of  Heaven,  what  do  you  mean,  sir  ?" 

"  That  you  have  won  the  heart  of  Susan  Somerville — a 
heart  not  lightly  won  or  easily  lost." 

"  No,  sir  I  no  1  It  is  not  so — it  cannot  be  so.  Susan, 
BO  good,  wise,  and  calm,  love  a  broken  reed  like  me.  Come, 
sir,  I  am  not  a  coxcomb." 

"  My  dear  Louis  I  it  is  just  such  good  girls  as  Susan 
Somerville  that  are  apt  to  love  such  good-for-nothing  fel- 
lows as  you.  It  is  a  law  of  nature.  If  the  good  married 
the  good,  and  the  strong  the  strong,  and  the  evil  the  evil, 
and  the  weak  the  weak — what  a  world  of  beauties  and  of 
monsters,  of  demons  and  of  angels,  we  should  have.  I  tell 
you,  that  this  Susan — good,  wise,  calm,  strong,  as  she  is — 
loves  with  all  her  heart  and  soul  this  brain-sick,  heart-sick, 
broken-down  son  of  mine." 

41  Oh,  sir,  this  cannot  be  so.  Heaven  forbid  that  it 
•hould  be  so,  indeed.  Susan  loves  me,  it  is  true,  but  it  ia 
as  a  sister  lores  a  brother,  as  an  angel  loves  a  sufferer ! — 
not  else." 

"  She  loves  yon  as  a  lover,  Louis ! — and  you,  Louis  ?" 

"  And  If  I  love  Susan  as  a  dear  sister — I  revere  her 
as  a  guardian  spirit — not  else." 

"  Louis,  you  should  marry  her." 

"Sir." 

"  Yon  should  marry  Susan  Somerville." 

"  Good  Heaven,  sir  I  impossible !  I  do  not  love  her  in 
tkat  way." 

M 


4TO  *«•     MOTHBK-1K-LAW. 

"  And  yet  yon  cannot  for  a  single  day  do  without  th« 
company  of  this  girl,  whom  yon  do  not  love  well  enough  to 
marry !  Lonis,  as  a  man  of  honor  you  must  do  one  of  two 
things — marry  Susan  Somerville,  or  never  see  her  more ! 
You  said  that  she  loved  yon  as  a  brother,  1  say  that  she 
loves  yon  as  a  lover." 

"  Are  yon  sure  of  this,  sir  ?" 

"  Sure  of  it,  Louis." 

"  Sir,  I  will  take  one  week  to  think  of  it  At  the  end 
of  this  time  I  will  either  resign  the  consolation  of  Susan's 
society  for  ever,  or  I  will  offer  her  my  hand !" 

"  My  dear  Louis,  that  is  right !" 

The  week  Louis  Stuart-Gordon  requested  was  for  this 
purpose :  to  write  once  more  to  Louise — once  more,  and 
for  the  very  last  time !  This  letter  was  an  eloquent  appeal. 
He  concluded  it  thus : 

"  Though  an  act  of  the  Legislature  has  divorced  my 
hand  from  yours,  no  power  on  earth  can  divorce  my  h^art 
from  yours,  best  beloved  Louise  !  I  am  not  twenty-two 
years  of  age,  Louise,  yet  a  few  silver  hairs  are  already  min- 
gling with  the  brown  on  my  temples !  I  have  no  hope  of 
happiness  in  the  future,  except  in  the  feeling  that  you  still 
live!  that  while  there  is  life  there  is  hopel  Write  to  me 
once  again,  Louise,  and  write  to  me  frankly,  for  my  destiny 
and  that  of  others,  hangs  upon  your  words.  Decide  my 
fate  for  me.  There  is  a  lady  to  whom  I  am  bound  by  the 
deepest  ties  of  gratitude  My  father  wishes  me  to  marry 
her.  I  have  not  yet  named  the  subject  to  her ;  for,  though 
her  society  has  been  a  great  solace  to  me,  I  regard  her  only 
as  a  sister,  and  I  wished  to  hear  from  you  again,  and  for 
the  last  time,  before  taking  any  step  that  might  raise  an 
insuperable  barrier  to  our  future  reunion  I  JN'o  other  wo- 
•an  has  erer  approached  your  throne  in  my  heart,  Louise ' 


LOUIS   AXD   susAir.  471 

Writ*  to  me  frankly.  If  you  will  return  to  me — yea,  evea 
If  you  give  me  the  least  faint  hope  of  a  vague  and  distant 
prospect  of  a  reunion — I  will  never  offer  my  hand  to  anotliei 
woman !  If,  however,  on  the  other  hand,  you  destroy  my 
slight  hopes  in  that  raepect,  knowing  that  I  shall  never  be 
happy  in  myself,  I  will  offer  my  d^ys  a  living  sacrifice  for 
the  contentment  of  others.  "Write  to  me  immediately  and 
frankly,  Louise !  Remember  that  the  slightest  hope  oi  a 
far-distant  future  reunion  will  keep  me  waiting  patient1/ ; 
for,  in  spite  of  all  that  has  corae  and  gone, 

"  I  am  still  thine  own 
"  Louis  STUART-GORDON.''* 

By  return  mail,  Louis  received  the  following  reply,  writ- 
ten by  Mrs.  Armstrong : — 

"  BROWN'S  HOTEL,  WASHINGTON, 

"  Thursday,  February  1,  18 — 
"MB.  STUART-GORDON : — 

"  SIB  :  I  am  constrained  to  express  my  astonishment  and 
indignation  at  the  insolent  assumption  of  your  last  letter  1 
Nor  should  I,  sir,  take  the  least  notice  of  the  insult,  were 
it  not  for  the  sake  of  announcing  to  you  the  following  fact, 
namely,  that  my  daughter,  Mrs.  Louise  Armstrong,  will  be 
married  on  the  22d  of  the  current  month,  to  the  Right 
Honorable  James,  fourth  Earl  of  Clonmachnois.  Imme- 
diately after  the  ceremony,  the  newly- married  couple  will 
depart  for  New  York,  whence  they  will  sail  by  the  first 
packet  to  England.  I  accompany  them. 

"With  due  respect, 
"  HOBTBNSE  BLACKISTONE  ARMSTBONO.W 

Whenever  Louis  received  a  wound,  his  instincts  sent  him 
to  Susan  Somerville,  to  have  it  dressed.  So,  as  soon  as  he 
had  received  this  cruel  letter,  he  felt  that  he  needed  tat 

BTilMUloa  uU  pr«f«ul  wu 


iff  THJC     MOTHKB-IN-LAW. 

gentle  girl,  whose  kind  words,  and  soft  tones  and  glanoet 
had  such  power  to  soothe  his  excited  mind.  He  placed  the 
letter  in  his  father's  hand,  and  stood,  cap  and  ridiug-whip 
In  hand,  waiting  for  him  to  read  it. 

"  You  are  going  to  The  Crags,  Louis,  I  suppose,"  said 
the  old  gentleman,  caking  o3f  his  spectacles,  and  returning 
the  letter. 

"  I  am,  sir." 

"You  remember  your  promise,  Louis — never  to  return 
thither,  unless  it  was  with  the  intention  of  offering  your 
hand  to  Susan  Soraerville." 

"  I  remember  it,  sir,  and  I  go  for  that  purpose." 

"  It  is  well !" 

"  Susan — Susan  Somernlle — I  knou  tnat  I  am  utterlj 
•nworthy  of  yon !  I  am  a  bowed,  miserable,  and  despair- 
ing man !  You  are  firm,  strong,  and  calmly  happy  in  your 
strength.  Yet,  Susan,  now  I  cannot  live  without  you ;  at 
least,  so  it  seems  to  me,  and  I  am  about  to  ask  you  to  un- 
dertake the  resurrection,  the  redemption,  of  just  such  a  lost 
wretch  as  I  am  I" 

The  face  of  Susan  grew  deadly  pale,  and  then  flashed 
back  to  crinuon.  She  withdrew  the  hand  that  he  had 
taken,  arose,  and  walked  in  an  agitated  manner  to  the  win- 
dow. Louis  got  up  and  followed  her. 

"  Susan !  dear  Susan !  is  it  such  presumption  to  hope 
that  I  may  be  able  to  persuade  you  to  give  me  your  hand 
in  marriage  ?"  Why  do  you  not  speak  to  me,  Susan  F" 

"  Louis  1"  she  faltered,  and  her  frame  trembled  from  head 
to  foot. 

"  Well,  dearest  Susan,  but  that  is  no  answer  1" 

"Alasl  Louis,  do  not  dream  of  another  marriage — espe- 
cially with  me — with  me,  who  had  such  an  affection  for — " 

"  For  one  to  whom  I  will  now  allude  for  the  very  lait 
hut  twae.  She  is  to  be  married  in  three  weeks,  SQMO  I" 


LOUIS     AND     SUSJLJT.  47| 

«  Gracious  Heavans !    No  1" 

41  This  is  so  I" 

"And  yon,  Louis  ?" 

"  Look  at  me,  Susan  1  I  am  very  calm  and  quiet  1  Come, 
Susan  I  I  have  passed  two  years  of  widowhood ;  that  is  a 
long  time  to  wear  the  willow  for  a  faithless  woman.  She 
will  marry,  she  will  go  to  England  ;  an  ocean  will  separate 
as ;  we  shall  never  meet  again.  She  is  indeed  dead  to  me. 
Read  Mrs.  Armstrong's  letter !" 

"  Oh  I  all  this  is  very  horrible  I"  Susan  said,  when  she 
had  concluded  it. 

"  Now,  then,  Susan,  during  all  this  time  that  she  has  de- 
serted me,  you  have  been  my  good  angel;  you  have  kept 
me  from  the  grave.  Say,  Susan,  will  you  not  bless  the  life 
that  you  have  saved  ?  I  feel,  Susan,  as  though  I  could  not 
lire  without  your  society.  Come,  Miss  Somerville,  make 
my  father,  Britannia,  and  myself,  happy  1" 

"  Louis,  as  far  as  in  me  lies,  I  will  make  yon  all  happy. 
I  will  be  your  friend  and  sister,  as  heretofore — and  nothing 
more,  Louis." 

"  Alas  I  Susan,  do  you  not  know  that  the  world  does  not 
recognize  such  a  relation  between  those  whom  the  ties  of 
blood  or  of  marriage  do  not  unite." 

Susan  leaned  her  elbow  on  the  window  sill,  dropped  her 
brow  npon  her  hand,  and  remained  silent. 

"  Susan,  you  must  either  give  me  your  hand,  or  I  mart 
totally  resign  the  comfort  of  your  society.  Nay,  I  hare 
passed  my  word  to  my  father,  to  do  BO." 

"  Louis !  this  is  strange !  this  startles  me  1  Louis,  lenv* 
«e." 

"  Not  without  my  answer,  Susan." 

"  Then  take  it,  Louis.  An  impulse,  strong  as  life,  impeli 
me  in  one  direction — a  power  inexorable  as  the  grave,  holdi 
me  back.  Between  them  I  am  on  the  rack.  Go,  Lonii  t 
anjrol— tempter !  Go,  a^d  lot  me  draw  into  the  quiei  " 


174  THE     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

"  Not  without  my  answer,  Susan."  He  took  her  hand, 
«nd  pressed  it  to  his  lips ;  he  argued,  implored,  but  failed 
to  persuade.  After  some  hours  he  left,  and  returned  to 
The  Isle  of  Rays. 

Susan  dropped,  pale  and  languid,  upon  the  old  settee. 
When  Harriet  came  in  to  give  her  a  cup  of  tea,  she  looked 
^>  languidlj  and  said — 

"Harriet,  you  are  old  and  experienced;  did  you  ever 
know  any  one  who  was  miserable  all  their  lives?" 

"  No,  Miss  Susan,  I  never  knew  any  one,  not  even  the 
poorest  slave,  who  was  miserable  from  youth  to  age — ex- 
cept it  was  from  remorse.  No,  Miss  Susan,  but  I  have 
Been  many  a  cloudy  morning  clear  off  beautifully  toward 
mid-day.  Is  not  the  sun  breaking  through  the  clouds  of 
your  life  now,  Miss  Susan  ?" 

General  and  Mrs.  Stuart-Gordon  came  up  to  The  Cragi 
in  the  afternoon.  Their  object  was  to  persuade  Susan  to 
accept  the  hand  of  Louis.  The  truth  is,  that  General 
Stuart-Gordon  was  tired  of  having  his  family  deranged  with 
uncertainty,  anxiety,  grief,  anger,  and  illness,  and  all  tde 
various  passions,  emotions,  and  calamities,  that  had  agitated 
the  Island  manor  for  the  last  two  years.  He  longed  to  see 
Louis  comfortably  married,  and  with  a  young  nursery  grow- 
ing up  around  him.  He  knew  that  Louis  never  could  be 
persuaded  to  address  any  young  lady,  unless  it  was  Susan  j 
he  knew,  also,  that  such  was  the  feeling  against  divorce  in 
the  neighborhood,  that  scarcely  any  father  could  be  induced 
to  give  the  hand  of  his  daughter  to  a  divorced  man.  Misi 
Somerville  had  no  parents  or  guardians  to  interfere,  and, 
besides,  she  loved  Louis.  Lastly,  she  had  a  great  venera- 
tion for  "  those  in  authority,"  and  for  the  opinions  of  her 
elders  in  general,  and  General  Stuart-Gordon  in  particular. 
She  would  be  likely  to  yield  her  prejudices  to  his  persua- 
•ions.  As  for  Britannf  a,  she  loved  sunshine ;  and  Louis, 
delicate  as  he  was,  made  a  great  shadow  at  The  Isle  cf 


LOUIS     AND    SUSA1T.  476 

especially  when  Susan  was  away.  And  she  wanted  , 
a  female  companion  ;  she  could  not  make  one  of  her  house- 
keeper, or  her  maid.  She  wanted  a  lady,  an  equal.  So 
that  I  am  afraid  there  was  a  little  alloy  of  selfisnness  in  the 
pure  gold  of  benevolence  with  which  the  General  anl 
Brighty  wished  to  secure  the  happiness  of  Louis  and  Susan 
Miss  Somerville  did  not  long  hold  out  against  all  those 
influences  brought  to  bear  upon  her.  Not  because  she  was 
alone  and  poor,  and  denied  the  pleasures  of  a  social  family 
circle,  and  the  comforts  of  wealth — not  because  she  loved 
Louis — not  for  all  these  strong  reasons  would  Susan  Som- 
erville have  consented,  but  because  the  happiness  of  Louis 
and  the  cheerfulness  of  his  family  seemed  to  depend  upon 
her  decision.  At  last,  while  Britannia  was  clasping  her 
hand,  and  smiling  in  her  eyes,  Susan  assented.  Then 
Brighty  fondly  embraced  her.  The  next  day,  Britannia, 
attended  by  Louis  and  a  servant  with  a  led  horse,  came  up 
to  The  Crags,  to  bring  Miss  Somerville  back  to  The  Isle  of 
Rays.  Having  arrived,  Brighty  took  Susan  up  stairs.  A 
wide  hall  divided  the  second  floor,  as  the  first.  This  hall 
VT&B  lighted  by  two  large  bay  windows,  one  at  the  front,  and 
one  at  the  back.  It  was  also  lined  with  paintings,  and  fur- 
nished with  book- cases,  rich  reading  desks,  and  lounges. 
On  the  right  side  of  this  hall  were  the  winter  rooms  of  Bri- 
tannia. Throwing  open  a  door  on  the  left  side  of  the  hall, 
Brighty  said,  smilingly,  "These  are  to  be  your  apartments, 
Miss  Soraerville — those  on  the  opposite  side  being  mine. 
Throwing  this  fine  wide  hall  between  us,  we  shall  not  come 
in  contact,  or  quarrel  you  know."  Then  she  conducted 
Susan  in.  They  vr<;re  a  beautiful  suit  of  rooms,  consisting 
of  a  boudoir,  a  dressing-room,  and  a  bed-chamber,  running 
parallel  with  the  haL"  from  front  to  back,  in  the  order  I  have 
narrated  them,  conntcted  by  doors,  and  each  having  a  door 
opening  upon  the  hall.  The  draperies  were  all  light-blat 
•ilk,  and  gave  a  singularly  cheerful  aspect  to  the  rooms. 


4T6  THE     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

"  Now,  my  room*,  you  know,"  said  Britannia,  "are  in  the 
reTerse  order  of  this.  My  bed-room  is  in  the  front,  my 
dressing-room  in  the  middle — oh  !  that  is  just  where  yonn 
It ;  and  my  boudoir  in  the  back  is  turned  into  a  nursery  for 
little  Brighty.  It  was  once  Louis's  dressing-room. 

All  that  week  Britannia  was  occupied  in  preparing  for  the 
wedding. 

But  now  came  the  trouble  and  the  mystery.  From  the 
moment  of  their  engagement — from  the  moment  that  the 
firmness  of  Susan  Somerville  had  yielded  to  much  solicita- 
tion on  the  part  of  Louis  Stuart-Gordon  and  his  family — 
from  the  moment  that  the  factitious  interest  of  the  struggle 
was  over,  and  the  object  was  attained — the  spirits  of  Louis 
flagged — he  sank  day  by  day  into  a  deeper  depression 
Unlike  the  lover  he  had  been  for  a  day  —unlike  even  the 
friend  he  had  been  for  years — Louis  became  gloomy,  ab 
stracted,  and  absented  himself  as  much  as  decency  would 
permit  from  his  betrothed. 

And  Susan !  she  watched  his  increasing  despondency 
with  a  sad,  though  quiet  surprise — and  silently  set  herself  to 
discover  the  cause  and  means  of  curing  his  malady. 

General  Stuart-Gordon  observed  the  ungrateful  neglect 
of  Miss  Somerville  by  his  son,  and  became  seriously  dis- 
pleased. 

Brighty  was  as  much  vexed  as  it  was  possible  for  Brighty 
to  be. 

The  marriage  ceremony  was  to  be  pe  rformed  very  quietly 
on  the  next  Sabbath,  at  church  before  the  morning  service. 

Saturday  came;  and  the  despair  of  Louis  was  frightful  to 
look  upon.  General  Stuart-Gordon  was  indignant,  and 
Britannia  herself  was  struggling  against  an  increasing  irrita- 
bility. 

Gertrude  Lion  and  her  brother  were  to  be  the  bridal  at- 
tendants. They  arrived  to  an  early  dinner— intending  to 


LOOIi    AKD    SUBAJT.  4fT 

all  day  and  night.  The  family  met  at  tie  dinner- 
table,  bat  the  sorrowful  abstraction  of  Lonis,  much  as  he 
struggled  to  overcome  it,  damped  the  spirits  of  the  whole 
party — even  Gertrude's  laughter  was  smothered  in  some- 
thing very  like  a  great  sigh. 

In  the  afternoon  little  Zoe  arrived. 

After  an  early  tea,  the  household  separated — that  is  to 
say,  Louis  went  off  to  his  own  apartment — Susan  disap- 
peared no  one  knew  where — the  General  betook  himself  to 
his  wainscoted  parlor  to  sulk,  and  Brighty  followed  him,  in 
an  amiable  spirit  of  contradiction,  to  defeat  that  profitable 
object.  Brutus  Lion  stalked  off  to  the  stables,  and  the  two 
girls,  Gertrude  and  her  pet,  went  to  their  own  rooms  to 
have  a  good  confidential  girlish  talk  about  matters  and  things 
in  general,  and  the  approaching  marriage  in  particular. 
Up  to  this  time,  be  it  remembered  that  Gertrude  had  not 
chanced  to  know  that  the  aspirant  to  the  hand  of  Louise 
Armstrong  was  her  own  ci-devant  admirer,  Frobisher.  No  ! 
that  Gertrude  had  now  to  learn ;  but  we  will  leave  the  girls 
gabbling  in  their  chamber  in  good  time,  before  the  unlucky 
little  tongue  of  Zoe,  shall  have  told  the  news,  or  applied 
the  match  that  shall  explode  our  dear  grenade,  Gertrude. 
We  will  follow  Lonis,  though  he  is  not  just  now  an  agree- 
able object  of  study. 

Lonis  had  left  the  tea-table,  and  wandered  in  an  abstrac- 
tion to  his  own  chamber.  It  was  situated  in  the  front  of 
the  house,  as  I  said.  It  was  so  early  in  the  evening  that 
the  window  blinds  had  not  been  closed.  The  windows 
oTerlooked  the  river  and  the  opposite  high  banks — the  high- 
est crowned  by  Mont  Crystal,  the  old  home  of  Louse.  It 
was  very  distinct  in  the  evening  light. 

The  sun  had  already  set ;  but  the  western  sky  was  glo- 
riously beautiful,  with  its  reflected  light.  Gorgeous  criin- 
•on,  purple,  tnd  golden  clouds  were  piled  up  like  the  monu 


478  THE     MOTHEB-IN-LAW. 

tains  of  ruby,  topaa,  and  amethyst,  in  the  Arabian  Nighto, 
and  reflected  in  all  their  marvelous  splendor  in  the  crystal 
river  below.  On  the  eastern  side  the  moon  was  just  rising, 
and  striking  an  arrow  of  diamond  light  down  the  stream. 
Before  him  was  the  opposite  bluffs  crowned  by  the  lofty 
colonnaded  white  front  of  Mont  Crystal. 

It  was  a  lovely  and  a  soothing  scene,  yet  Louis  sickened 
at  it. 

He  closed  the  blinds,  and  sat  down  in  darkness.  He  sat 
down  in  a  deep  and  high-backed  chair,  and  dropping  his 
head  upon  his  open  palms,  gave  himself  up  to  sad  thoughts. 

An  hour  passed,  and  he  had  not  changed  his  attitude. 

Suddenly  he  felt  two  light,  soft  hands  descend  like  a  bles- 
sing on  his  head. 

He  looked  up  in  surprise,  and  recognized  Susan  Somer- 
Tille. 

Her  hands  slipped  down  over  his  temples,  and  then 
dropped  kindly  upon  his  hands,  which  they  took  and 
pressed. 

"  My  dear  Susan  !"  exclaimed  Louis,  in  a  tone  between 
surprise  and  remorse. 

She  silently  pressed  his  hands,  went  quietly  to  the  win- 
dow, opened  the  blinds,  letting  in  a  flood  of  moonlight,  and 
returning,  half  leaned  over  his  chair,  as  she  addressed 
him— 

"  Louis,  you  are  very  wretched — why  do  you  not  deal 
frankly  with  me  ?" 

"  My  dear  Susan  " 

"  Why  do  you  not  honestly  tell  me  the  cause  of  your  re- 
morse ?" 

"  Oh  Susan  ?" 

"  Why  not  have  said  to  me,  '  Susan,  I  loved  thee  as  a 
dear  sister,  I  drew  health  from  thy  presence,  and  cheerful- 
ness from  thy  talk ;  but,  Susan,  I  mistook  my  heart  when  I 
thought  that  I  c^ild  wed  thee.'  " 


LOUIS     AND     SUSAN.  479 

"gnsan!  Susan!" 

"  Come,  ijouis  I  we  have  both  acted  foolishly — we  hart 
both  been  weak  and  wicked ;  let  us  retrace  our  footstepi 
while  there  is  yet  time." 

"  What  mean  you,  Susan  ?" 

"  Let  us  break  this  ill-omened  engagement — it  wot 
wrong ;  do  not  let  it  become  fatal — come  let  us  consider 
it." 

"Never,  Susan  1  Never!  Pardon,  dear  Susan  I  par- 
don a  few  regrets  given  to  the  past — they  will  soon  them' 
selves  be  past ! — they  are  past.  Susan,  you  merit  my  entire 
devotion — you  have  it." 

"  Thank  you,  dearest  Louis !  but  my  purpose  is  fixed. 
Since  you  will  not  agree  with  me  to  annul  this  engagement, 
I  break  through  it.  I  came  here  for  that  purpose." 

"  But,  Susan,  this  is  haity — this  is  rash.  You  have  not 
considered  all  the  consequences." 

"  My  friend  1"  said  Susan,  with  a  mild  solemnity,  "  I 
have  erred,  and  suffered  somewhat  from  rashness.  I  will 
•ever  be  rash  again !  No,  Louis  I  I  have  thought  of  thig 
some  weeks,  but  I  resolved  to  do  nothing  rashly." 

"But,  Susan—" 

"  To-night,  my  mind  is  made  up  finally,  and,"  said  Miss 
Somerville,  standing  up  and  resting  her  hand  upon  the 
dressing-table — "and  Louis!  here  I  take  God  and  his 
holy  evangelists  to  witness,  that  I  will  never,  under  any 
possible  circumstances,  give  yon  my  hand  in  marriage,  or 
sustain  any  other  relation  to  you  than  that  of  sister  and 
friend." 

Louis  started  to  his  feet — would  have  arrested  the  hand 
that  fell  upon  the  Bible,  but  it  was  too  late ;  the  oath  WM 
recorded. 

With  a  sudden  revulsion  of  feeling — by  a  strangt  oon- 
tradict'on,  Louis  was  struck  powerless  by  the  sight  of  & 


480  THl     MOTHXB-IN-LAW. 

consolation  BO  unexpectedly,  so  irretrievably  snatched  from 
him      At  last  he  faltered  ont — 

"Oh,  why — why  have  you  done  this,  rash  and  hard- 
hearted girl  ?" 

"  To  cat  this  matter  short  at  once  and  forever,  Louis. 

And  now,  dear  Louis,  we  shall  be  .riends  again.  "We 
have  been  snch  strangers  since  our  betrothal,  Louis.  Now 
that  it  is  annulled,  we  shall  be  friends  again.  I  shall  be 
thy  sister  and  consoler  as  heretofore.  Whenever  thon  art 
lonely,  or  wearied,  or  troubled,  thou  shalt  come  to  me — 
yes,  in  season  and  out  of  season,  at  all  times  and  at  all 
hours,  Louis,  and  find  a  sister's  affection  and  a  sister's  con- 
solation." 

"  Oh,  but,  my  dear  Susan,  the  world — the  world  I" 

"  As  I  told  one  gentle  one,  who  is  nameless  here,  the 
world  will  make  no  mistakes  about  me.  Good-night, 
Louis.  I  go  to  announce  this  new  phase  of  affairs  to  Bri- 
tannia." 

Louig  caught  her  hand,  and  pressed  it  fervently  to  hi* 
lips,  and  then  permitted  her  to  leave  him. 

She  went  out,  with  the  purpose  of  descending  into  the 
oak  parlor  to  talk  with  Brighty,  when  the  opposite  door 
of  the  chamber,  jointly  occupied  by  Gertrude  and  Zoe,  was 
thrown  open,  and  Gertrude  Lion,  in  a  state  of  high  excite* 
ment,  burst  out  and  fled  past  her  down  the  stairs,  and  into 
the  oak  parlor.  Amazed,  Susan  drew  back  and  returned 
to  her  own  room. 

"  I'll  be  hanged,  drawn,  and  quartered,  before  I  stand  it! 
Ml  be  torn  to  pieces  by  wild  beasts  before  I  stand  it  1  I'D 
be  blown  up  from  the  crater  of  my  own  volcano  before  I 
stand  it !"  thundered  Gertrude  Lion,  bounding  like  a  itona 
In  the  midst  of  the  room — her  tall  figure  elevated,  her  fiat 
head  thrown  back,  her  yellow  hair  falling  like  a  cataract, 
her  broad  white  bosom  now  red  and  heaving,  her  neck,  hef 
chwki,  her  very  brow  flashed  to  a  bright  oftroattot,  tot 


LOUIS     AND    SUSAN.  481 

tranBparjnt  nostrils   distended,   quivering,   her  light-blue 
Saxon  eyes  dilated,  blazing. 

General  Stuart-Gordon  and  Britannia  looked  at  her  ii 
iilent  astonishment. 

M  I—I  shall  break  a  blood-vessel !  I  wish  I  might,  it 
Would  be  a  relief.  I  shall  choke  to  death— I  shall  burst  I" 
cried  the  giantess,  shaking  with  her  thunder  from  head  to 
foot. 

"  Why,  what  is  the  matter  Gertrude  ?"  inquired  the  Gen- 
cral. 

"  HOLD  YOUR  TONGUE  !"  shouted  the  Amazon,  strutting 
op  and  down  the  room  like  a  chafed  bearess  in  her  cage. 
"  Don't  speak  to  me,  I  am  aangerous ;  I  shall  do  damage ; 
T  shall  explode  and  blow  the  house  up  1" 

"  Can  you  guess  what  has  angered  her,  Britannia  ?" 

BrigLty  shook  her  head. 

"  It  is  insufferably  hard,  so  it  is,  that  out  of  all  the  mil- 
lions on  this  burdened  earth,  I  only  care  for  one  boy,  and  I 
am  to  be  swindled  out  of  him  I"  cried  Gertrude,  flinging 
back  tj<-  torrent  of  hair,  every  golden  thread  of  which  bris- 
tled with  agitation.  "  You  all  part  with  your  sweetheart* 
and  wivjs  with  as  much  indifference  as  yon  would  resign  the 
partner  o?  a  dance.  By  my  own  heart's  strength,  7  will  not 
I  have  feh  *  long  time  as  though  I  ought  to  roll  up  my 
UHffs  and  to>e  that  woman  in  hand  I  This  is  a  judgment  on 
me  for  no.  doing  it.  I  have  let  her  scheme  and  plot,  and 
marry  and  unmarry,  and  torture  and  break  hearts  to  her 
Dwn  heart's  content.  Oh,  just  God !  that  I  have  spent  so 
much  time  in  ridditg  the  woods  and  mountains  of  wolves 
and  bears,  and  that  I  have  left  this  human  hyena  walk  abroad 
among  women,  and  never  resolved  to  deal  with  her,  until 
•be  struck  her  fangs  into  my  own  heart !  Selfish  that  I 
was !  Not  for  the  sake  of  Sn*an,  of  Louise,  of  Louis,  of 
Zoe,  of  all  the  hearts  that  she  has  trampled  in  the  dust,  did  I 
idolrt  to  punish  her  t  Now  she  would  plant  bor  etorw 


462  THl     MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

foot  open  my  bosom — would  marry  off  my  boy — my  own, 
own  boy — the  gift  of  the  mountain  cataract  to  me ;  my  own 
beautiful  white  water-lily,  that  I  found  broken  and  hall 
drowned  amid  the  foam  of  the  torrent  and  the  peaks  of  the 
rocks.  He  took  the  wrong  road  then,  and  was  nearly 
dashed  to  pieces  over  the  precipice  of  Mad  River  Pass,  and 
I  saved  him.  He  has  taken  a  wronger  road  over  a  madder 
pass,  and  is  in  danger  of  being  thrown  over  a  worse  precipice 
than  before,  and  I'll  save  him  again.  That  I  should  let  the 
Armstrong  marry  him  off  to  a  milk-sop  like  Louise,  who  is 
not  capable  of  taking  care  of  him.  Set  her  up  with  it! 
What  would  Louise  do  with  his  Irish  bog-trotting  peasants  ? 
/would  make  them  work  and  support  themselves.  I  can't 
drive  slaves  somehow.  There  is  a  pride  in  my  heart  tbat 
keeps  me  from  it.  But  oh,  glory!  how  I  can  drive  ^r>rth- 
less  free  people!  I'd  soon  have  the  hillocks  leve'.ol,  and 
the  bog  filled  up.  But  how  can  Louise  help  him  iv  jig 
plans  of  life  ?  Oh,  he  has  been  charmed,  fooled  ;  h?  i-  ir  » 
bewilderment.  He  shall  be  saved  I" 

The  storm  had  nearly  expended  its  fury.  From  teariLc 
and  striding — from  thundering,  blazing,  and  roaring,  Ger. 
trude  subsided  into  sauntering,  crying,  and  exclaiming.  The 
storm  has  subsided,  but  not  the  resolution  to  which  it  hau 
given  birth.  General  Stuart- Gordon  took  his  paper  an« 
walked  out  of  the  room.  Brighty  arose,  and  taking  the 
band  of  the  still  somewhat  excited  girl,  led  her  to  a  seat  by 
the  fire,  and  placing  one  hand  upon  her  heaving  breast,  sLe 
inquired,  "  Xow,  what  is  all  this  about,  Gertrude  ?" 

"  What  is  all  this  about  ?  Why  that  I  have  just  heard 
from  Zoe  Dove  the  name  of  the  young  man  to  whom  Mra. 
Armstrong  is  going  to  marry  Louise.  It  is  James  Frobisber, 
my  own  betrothed  !" 

"  My  cousin,  the  Earl  of  Clonmachnois,  whose  life  yoa 
lared  !  Bat  were  you  betrothed  !" 

"Yet — no      That  is  to  say,  I  do  not  really  know  if  h 


LOUIS    AND    CUSAK.  483 

was  actually  so  or  not.  This  was  the  way  of  it :  He  passed 
six  weeks  with  me  at  The  Lair.  Jr.st  before  he  went  he 
asked  me  to  have  him — but  just  to  go  to  a  boardbg-school 
for  a  year,  and  learn  some  accomplishments.  Well  I  told 
him  NO,  very  decidedly  ;  of  course  I  was  not  going  to  haf-i 
a  man  for  the  first  asking.  I  wanted  to  be  courted  like  other 
Tomenl  I  suppose  he  misunderstood  me,  or  he  hadn't 
time ;  at  any  rate,  he  took  my  word  NO,  and  went  off  with 
it !  Something  in  my  own  bosom  assures  me  that  he  pre- 
*ers  me  to  every  other  woman.  Mrs.  Armstrong  knew  it 
all.  She  was  in  the  neighborhood  all  the  time  while  you 
were  away ;  and  in  two  words,  I  am  going  to  Washington 
to  forbid  the  banns." 

"You  are  mad,  Gertrude  1" 

"  Then  I  am  the  better  company  for  those  I  go  to  see  !' 
exclaimed  the  Amazon,  with  spirit.  "  Good  night  1  Late 
as  it  is,  this  night  i  go  to  The  Lair,  and  to-morrow,  with 
early  dawn,  I  set  out  for  Washington.  Oh,  I'll  strike  her  a 
blow!  I'll  give  her  a  turn  1  I'll  purposely  wait  until  the 
last  moment — until  the  bridal  circle  stand  before  the  parson  I 
— then  I'll  denounce  her  vi  lainy  1  Then  I'll  insist  upon 
being  heard — then  a-.d  there  I  will  denounce  her  I" 

"  You  are  mad  1  jfonder,  ray  dear  Gertrude — bethink 
you,  We  have  no  proofs ! — nay,  we  are  not  certain  even  in 
our  own  hearts  of  her  guilt." 

"  THEN  and  THERK  !  in  her  pride  of  place,  in  her  hour 
of  triumph,  I  will  denounce  her  as  a  traitress — as  a  mur 
deress !  and  I  will  trust  to  her  own  conscience,  in  that  mo- 
ment of  surprise  and  horror,  to  corroborate  my  testimony 
if  I  am  right,  or  cover  me  with  confusion  if  I  am  wrong. 
Good-night,  once  more.  I  have  no  time  to  lose  in  vain 
ceremonies.  Make  my  adieus  to  the  family."  And  the 
Amazon  bounded  from  the  room. 

The  next  morning,  at  breakfast,  Britannia  mentioned  the 
nad  freak  of  the  Gerfalcon 


484  THK     MOTHJCB-IN-LAW. 

"  WLat !  do  each  a  desperate  act  ag  that?  She  will  no*, 
with  all  her  madness." 

"Kely  upon  it  that  Gertrude  will  do  it." 

"  If  she  has  such  a  design,  she  most  be  prevented  from 
carrying  it  out.  It  would  kill  Louise."  And  Louis  aros« 
from  the  table  and  rang  the  bell. 

"  Saddle  the  fleetest  horse  in  the  stable  !"  was  the  orde 
he  gave  the  servant  who  appeared. 

In  fifteen  minutes  Louis  Stuart-Gordon  was  galloping 
rapidly  toward  The  Lair.  He  arrived  in  two  hours.  Ger- 
trude had  set  out  for  the  metropolis  at  four  o'clock  that 
morning.  It  was  now  eleven.  She  had  seven  hours  in 
advance  of  him.  Gertrude,  with  her  strong,  fleet  horse, 
and  her  hard  riding,  would  irobably  reach  the  city  by 
nightfall.  He,  were  he  to  set  out  now,  might  reach  it  by 
ten  or  eleven  o'clock  at  night.  He  resolved  to  attempt  it 
Writing  a  hasty  lino  to  his  family,  and  sending  it  by  a  bey, 
he  set  out  for  Washington. 


CHAPTER   XXXVIII. 

T1IS     SWOOP    OF    THE    GERFALCON. 
Am  Mfle  md  »  ««rp«nt  wreathed  In  flght.— Shellt^. 

IN  Washington  city  are  several  elegant  mansions,  npcn 
the  building,  adorning,  and  furnishing  of  which  the  owner* 
hare  spent  fortunes,  and  from  which  they  derive  comfort- 
able revenues,  by  letting  them  to  foreign  ministers,  mem- 
bers of  the  Cabinet,  Senators,  or  other  wealthy  men,  whose 
temporary  sojourn  with  their  families  in  the  metropolis  make 
such  an  accommodation  desirable.  One  of  these  mansions 
had  lately  been  vacated  by  the  Spanish  minister,  recalled 


•  WOO?     G*     1HI     SERlALOOir.         485 

le  Madrid.  Mrs.  Armstrong  established  herself  in  thi« 
dwelling  for  the  season  of  bar  sojonrn  in  "Washington 
Here  she  commenced  the  sphndid  preparations  for  the 
marriage  of  her  daughter.  The  first  week  was  spent  in 
ordering  an  elegant  trousseau  for  the  bride,  and  passed 
among  jewelers,  dry -goods  merchants,  milliners,  and 
mantua-makers ;  the  second  week,  in  superintending  the 
work  of  the  upholsterers ;  who  were  engaged  in  fitting  up 
the  rooms  in  festive  style.  The  third  and  last  week  be- 
fore the  marriage  was  employed  in  issuing  cards  of  invita- 
tion to  the  wedding.  During  all  these  three  weeks  the 
gates  of  Mrs.  Armstrong's  city  residence  were  besieged  with 
private  carriages  or  hackney-coaches,  and  the  gold  basket 
on  her  centre -table  laden  with  the  cards  of  distinguished 
visitors,  who  had  called  to  pay  their  respects  to  the  wealthy 
widow.  Mrs.  Armstrong  had  also  renewed  her  acquain- 
tance, and  Louise  her  intimacy,  with  the  amiable  and  dig- 
nified Mrs.  M ,  the  lady  of  the  President. 

Louise  1 — crushed  with  sorrow,  bewildered,  lost  in  tbe 
moral  maze  in  which  she  found  herself — Louise  faded  day 
by  day.  She  must  have  taken  to  her  bed,  but  that  her 
waning  strength  was  sustained  by  powerful  tonics  and 
stimulants — and  still  her  paleness,  her  emaciation,  was  at- 
tributed to  mere  physical  delicacy. 

And  young  Frobisher ! — if  there  was  anything  he  ad- 
mired with  enthusiasm,  it  was  fine  physical  strength  and 
beauty — this  had  been  the  strong  attraction  that  had  drawn 
him  to  Gertrude ,  if  there  was  anything  he  pitied  with  all 
bis  heart,  it  was  physical  delicacy.  Thus,  as  he  had  loved 
Gertrude  from  admiration,  he  now  loved  Louise  from  pity. 

Still  it  must  be  confessed  that  of  late  the  memory  of  tb« 
glorioui  mountain-girl  haunted  him  like  some  grand  fantas- 
tic dre*ia.  And  he  sometimes  sent  a  sigh  Coating  OTOT 
the  hills  and  forests  up  into  the  far  mountain?  of  Ybgtclt* 
I  have  bad  little  time  to  analyse  the  nature  of  yonog  Fr» 


486  THI     MOTHER- IN-  LAW. 

bisher — to  show  the  struggle  in  his  heart  between  admira* 
tion  of  the  beautiful  Amazon,  and  dread  of  introducing  such 
»  savage  into  the  refined  circles  of  English  gentility.  Young 
Frobisher  lacked  combaiiveness  and  firmness.  With  the 
most  elevated  aspiration  he  wanted  decision  of  character, 
strength  of  will,  and  frequently  needed  the  force  of  external 
circumstances,  or  the  influence  of  another  stronger  will  to 
impel  him  in  this  course  or  in  that.  Thus  he  had  acquiesced 
in  Gertrude's  negative  with  very  little  resistance.  Thus  he 
had  yielded  to  the  attraction  of  his  sympathies,  and  the 
magnetism  of  the  strong  and  decided  wills  by  which  he  was 
surrounded,  when  he  offered  his  hand  to  Louise.  This 
subtle  influence,  this  spiritual  magnetism,  still  impelled  him 
in  a  course  which  he  fancied  he  was  pursuing  of  his  own 
free  will. 

Some  women  want  a  master,  and  some  men  need  a  mis- 
tress. Frobisher  was  one  of  the  latter. 

The  day  before  the  wedding  came.  Louise  was  very 
feeble.  Frobisher  regarded  her  with  visible  anxiety.  Mrs. 
Armstrong  sought  to  reassure  him. 

"  Once  out  of  this  country,"  said  she,  "  where  she  has 
suffered  so  much,  her  health  will  improve." 

And  she  lectured  Louise  in  private,  and  administered 
quinine. 

Night  came — the  night  before  the  wedding.  Louise  lay 
on  her  bed,  with  her  hands  clasped  over  her  brow  and  eyes 
—eyes  that  seldom  now  closed  in  slumber. 

"I  shall  die  I  feel  that  this  is  the  last  night  of  my  life, 
unless  a  miracle  be  wrought  to  save  me !  I  cannot  save 
myself  1  I  am  so  feeble — I  am  a  very  slave.  When  I  was 
younger,  happier,  and  stronger,  then  I  suffered  myself  to  be 
blinded  by  a  moral  illusion.  Now,  that  the  scales  have  fal- 
len from  my  eyes ;  naw  that  I  see  how  wrong — oh,  my  God  1 
how  deplorably  wrong,  I  b  we  been,  it  is  too  late  (  Louis  ii 


•  WOOF     OF     TBJfi     GERFALCON.          487 

lost  to  me,  and,  worn  cut  by  slavery  and  suffering,  I  ha*« 
no  power  to  resist  this  marriage — this  execution  1  I  shall 
die  I  I  shall  die  there  before  them  all,  and  then  Loais  wiiJ 
know  how  I  loved — and  mother  will  know  how  she  erred  I'1 

Thus  mourned  the  broken  spirit,  in  its  still  despair.  Some 
times  wild  impulses  would  traverse  her  brain,  like  forked 
lightning  across  a  cloudy  sky. 

"  Louis  lives — he  lives  !  While  there  is  life  there  is  hope  •: 
What  hinders  me  from  flying  to  him  now  ?  Because  he  ia 
not  my  husband  ?  He  is  my  husband — he  is  I  though  a 
million  of  Legislatures  in  a  thousand  halls  should  have  pro- 
nounced our  divorcement.  What  hinders  me  now  from  fly- 
ing to  him  ;  and,  if  I  die,  die  on  his  bosom — if  be  casts  me 
off— at  his  feet  I" 

She  started  up  with  the  impulse,  but  her  hca*  reeled,  her 
limbs  failed,  and  she  sunk  back  upon  the  bed. 

"  In  vain — in  vain  I  I  have  no  longer  the  power  to  exe- 
cute even  my  own  weak  purposes.  The  hanu  of  death  ia 
suspended  over  me — ere  I  be  the  bride  of  that  man  it  wili 
fall  on  me  !  Louis  only  can  save  me  now  I  I  feel  that  Gol 
has  deputed  the  power  of  life  and  death  into  the  hands  of 
Louis.  Louis  the  forsaken  !  Louis  the  betrayed  !  Oh,  tlat 
Louis  would  come  and  save  1" 

Thus  all  night  the  sick  heart  mourned.  Tims  all  aight 
the  wild  brain  toiled ;  and  morning  dawned,  and  the  sun 
arose,  and  found  the  bride  feverish,  excited,  yet  pale  and 
faint. 

Night  came  again — the  wedding-night.  The  house  v»a^ 
one  blaze  of  illumination.  The  grounds  around  it  a  forefet 
of  carriages.  The  splendiu  saloons  were  filled  with  a  bril- 
liant company.  Mrs.  Armstrong  herself  never  looked  s-.% 
imperial  as  on  this  night,  when  her  daughter  was  to  h« 
w*dded  to  an  Earl.  In  truth,  Mrs.  Armstrong  was  a  very 
queen-like  woman,  and  stood  among  her  guests  as  theii  sove- 
reign, and  her  imperious  eye,  lighted  with  the  triumph  & 


*$8  f*l     XOTH1B-IH-LAW. 

pride,  shone  over  the  distinguished  assembly  with  an  almost 
youthful  brilliancy.  Members  of  the  house  of  Represent*- 
tires,  Senators,  members  of  the  Cabinet  with  their  families, 
foreign  Ministers  with  their  suites,  were  preseut.  The  Pre- 
sident himself  honored  the  occasion  with  his  presence.  Yet 
the  centre  of  all  eyes  was  Mrs.  Armstrong  herself,  in  her  ma- 
tronly grace  and  majestic  beauty. 

The  arrival  of  the  Right  Rev.  Bishop  H ,  in  his  car- 
riage and  canonical  robes,  caused  a  sensation.  The  arrival 
cf  the  Bishop  was  soon  followed  by  the  entrance  of  the  bri- 
dal part; — a  magnificent  spectacle  I 

I  wish  I  could  daguerreotype  the  following  scene,  and 
place  it  in  form  and  color,  vividly  before  you.  I  will  try. 

The  wall  of  the  vast  saloon  was  hung  with  yellow  damask, 
and  formed  a  warm  back  ground  to  the  picture.  Three  im- 
mense chandeliers  hung  from  the  ceiling.  The  brilliant 
company  that  filled  this  room  had  fallen  back  on  all  sides, 
having  a  ppiee  in  ~he  centre  of  the  saloon,  immediately  nn- 
der  the  blaze  of  tne  central  chandelier.  In  this  broad  light 
Biood  the  bishop  in  his  canonical  robes.  On  his  right  hand, 
at  the  distance  of  a  few  yards,  stood  Mrs.  Armstrong,  hei 
majestic  form  arrayed  in  a  royal  purple  velvet,  her  black 
hair  arranged  in  massive  braids,  and  adorned  with  a  circlet 
of  diamonds  and  a  tuft  of  white  ostrich  plumeu.  She  leaned 

np-yn  the  arm  of  General ,  General-in-chief  of  the 

American  Army,  in  his  gorgeous  uniform.  Upon  the  left 
of  the  Bishop  stood  the  British  Minister  and  his  suite,  in 
•LeJr  court-dresses.  The  bridal  party  advanced,  and  ar- 
.Angtd  itself  in  a  semicircle  before  this  group.  The  bride 
wu  arrayed  in  a  rich  white  latin,  aud  over  that  an  open 
robe  of  gauze,  with  n  deep  border  of  embroidered  silver 
fiowen.  Her  head,  her  neck,  her  arras,  her  stomacher,  were 
literally  blaiiag  with  iiuinond:.  The  woman  was  nearly 
Invisible  in  the  son-like  splendor.  To  her  left  ran  a  line  of 
six  young  btidtmmild*,  with  their  white  silk  dresses  and 


maths  of  white  roses.  Bj  her  Bide  stood  the  bridegroom, 
and  on  hi§  right  a  line  of  six  young  groomsmen.  The) 
were  dressed  in  that  elegant  gentlemen's  wedding  costume 
that  needs  so  little  description,  viz  :  the  fine  blue  dress  coat 
the  white  satin  vest,  and  kid  gloves. 

The  full  light  of  the  chandelier  blazed  down  upon  this 
gorgeous  spectacle.  It  was  the  focus  of  the  eyes  of  all  that 
TMt  company.  Some  said  that  the  fine  aristocratic  features 
of  the  bridegroom  were  very  pale,  like  those  of  a  man  going 
to  his  doom — but  that  might  have  been  from  the  contrast 
of  the  black  silky  cnrls  and  whiskers  that  encircled  his  clear 
white  face.  Others  said  that  the  bride  trembled,  and  rested 
languidly  upon  the  arm  of  her  first  bridesmaid. 

The  bishop  opened  his  book. 

A  dead  silence  fell  upon  the  crowd.  Their  eyes  were 
riveted  upon  the  group.  Many  noticed  the  fearful  paleness 
of  the  bride's  face,  and  saw  her  lean  heavily  upon  the  arm 
of  the  bridegroom.  The  Bishop,  in  a  deep  and  earnest 
Toice,  thus  commenced  the  impressive  marriage  ceremony  : 

"Dearly  beloved,  we  are  gathered  together  here  in  tbe 
sight  of  God,  and  in  the  face  of  this  company,  to  join  to- 
gether this  man  and  this  woman  in  holy  matrimony,  which 
is  commended  by  St.  Paul  to  be  honorable  among  all  men, 
and  therefore  is  not  by  any  to  be  entered  into  unadvisedly 
or  lightly ;  but  reverently,  discreetly,  advisedly,  soberl  ,  and 
in  the  fear  of  God.  Into  this  holy  state  these  two  peoph 
come  now  to  be  joined.  If  any  man  can  show  just  cause 
why  they  may  not  lawfully  be  joined  together,  let  him  now 
speak,  or  else  hereafter  forever  hold  his  peace." 

"  I  CAN  I"  shouted  a  clear,  high,  imperious  voice,  and  th« 
doors  flew  open,  and  Gertrude  Lion  burst,  "a  beautiful  em- 
bodied storm,"  among  them.  She,  too,  in  festal  garments ; 
a  shining  dark-blue  satin  studded  with  glittering  sapphires, 
and  her  magnificent  hair  rolling  a  golden  glory  to  her  feet. 
Her  commanding  stature— her  glowing  color — her  blarinp 


490  THE     MOTHIB-IN-tJLW. 

eye*— the  glory  of  her  imperious  brow,  might  hare 

the  guilty  ill  that  crowd  deem  that  an  avenging  angel  stood 

among  them. 

Struck  statue-still,  less  by  the  interruption  than  by  the 
splendidly  beautiful  Amazon  that  made  it,  the  assem^.. 
company  was  held  in  a  spell  of  silence  while  they  gazed  at 
Ler. 

There  she  stood  in  her  sublime  beauty,  radiating  a  cold 
Bp?e..doi,  like  a  sun-struck  iceberg. 

Ouly  one  instant  was  the  crowd  held  in  that  spell,  of  won- 
der-stricken silence,  and  then  a  hum  of  many  voices  rolled 
through  the  crowd,  as  they  exclaimed  or  inquired  of  one 
another,  "  Who  is  this  7"  "What  does  this  mean  7"  "  Hal" 
"  What  I"  "  How  7"  "  Who  is  she  7" 

"  SILENCE  EVERY  ONE  OF  YOU  1"  thundered  the  Amazon, 
bringing  the  loaded  end  of  her  riding-whip  down  upoii  the 
table  with  a  resounding  ring. 

"  Who  is  this  woman  7"  asked  the  Bishop,  in  a  low  whis- 
per, of  Mrs.  Armstrong. 

'  Oh,  a  lunatic  !  a  mad  woman  of  the  mountains  1  Arrest 
her  I" 

"  HCLD  YOUR  TONGUE,  MRS.  ARMSTRONG  !"  shouted  the 
giants?,  raising  the  end  of  her  riding-whip,  and  making  a 
step  toward  her,  "  I  am  GERTRUDE  LION  1  and  you  know 
me ;  and  so  does  James  Frobisher,  Earl  of  Clonmachnois  1" 
i  aid  she,  Sxing  her  eyes  on  the  bridegroom. 

Jauies  Frobisher,  Earl  of  Clonmachnois,  was  standing 
iiieie,  giving  his  whole  attention  to  the  half-fainting  bride. 

"  Leave  that  man  1  come  to  me,  Louise  7"  said  Ger- 
i-ade,  in  a  voice  full  of  commanding  tenderness,  opening 
her  arms  anc  holding  them  out  to  the  poor  V  ride,  who  with 
in  instinctive  bound  cleared  the  circle,  and  fell  upon  the 
kroad  and  sheltering  breast  of  the  Amazon. 

"  There,  there,  there,  there,  be  a  good  girl,"  dove-likt 
ooced  frVe  Falcon,  gently  caressing  her 


SWOOP     OF     THE     GERFALCON.          491 
'Young  lady,"  began   tbe  Bishop,  "will    you    please 

M> — w 

"SHUT  UP,"  supped  the  giantess,  and  then  gave  her 
Attention  to  her  charge.  "  There  1  there  I  don't  weep, 
Louise,  or /shall." 

"  Madam  I  the  assembled  company  are  amazed,  con- 
founded at  your  singular  conduct.  In  their  name  I  demand 
the  meaning  of  this.  Upon  what  pretense  have  you  ar- 
rested this  marriage  ?"  asked  the  Bishop,  advancing  and 
standing  before  her  in  all  the  venerableness  of  his  agu  and 
office.  "  I  insist  instantly  upon  bearing  from  your  lips  from 
what  cause  and  to  what  end  you  have  arrested  this  mar- 
riage  ?» 

The  Amazon  raised  her  imperious  brow,  and  looking  him 
iteadily  in  the  eye?,  answered,  "  Because  the  would-be  bride 
is  the  wife  of  another  man  I" 

"  How — what  I"  exclaimed  the  bishop. 

A  thrill  of  exclamatory  astonishment  ran  through  the 
crowd. 

"Madam,  you  should  be  very  sure  of  what  you  ad- 
vance !"  exclaimed  the  bishop  with  solemnity. 

"Ask  the  bride  herself.  Louise,  answer,  I  command 
you  I  Are  you  the  wife  of  Louis  Stuart-Gordon,  or  not  ?" 

"Oh,  I  amf  I  am/  Indeed  I  am,  the  wife  of  Louis 
Stuart-Gordon  1" 

"  You  hear  her  1"  said  Gertrude,  triumphantly. 

"  She  is  mad  !  mad,  I  say  I"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Armstrong, 
striding  forward.  "  Gentlemen,  will  none  of  yon  arrest 
this  mad  woman  ?" 

Gertrude  threw  a  glance  of  mingled  triumph  and  defiance 
over  the  astounded  crowd.  Her  aye  lighted  in  its  rovingt 
upon  a  new  com.r.  Louis  Stuart-Gordon,  pale,  travel- 
stained,  and  dusty,  stood  among  them. 

"Take  her,  Lctris,"  exclaimed  she,  tossing  her  charge 
hto  his  arms  '  Take  her,  Louis,  as  my  free  gift,  and 


4M  THl     MOTHXB-I1T-L1W. 


by  the  name  of  Gertrude  Lion  henceforth  and  fof 
evermore,  »men  !  Take  her  and  bear  her  hence,  for  I  ban 
the  devil'i  own  work  to  d  5  now !" 

"An  avenging  angel's,  rather  I"  replied  Louis,  receiving 
the  fainting  form  of  Louise  in  his  arms ;  "  an  avenging 
angel'*,  rather !" 

"It  amount*  to  about  the  same  thing,"  replied  Ger- 
trude. 

And  terrible  was  the  brow  that  the  Gerfalcon  now  tnrned 
toward  the  assembled  company. 

"Arrest  her  1  she  is  mad  1"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Armstrong, 
terror-stiieken  by  the  appalling  look  of  the  Amazon. 

Gerlrnde  raised  one  hand  up,  as  though  appealing  to 
Heaven. 

"  dCear  me,  all  who  are  gathered  in  this  house.  I  de- 
nounce Hortense  Armstrong  as  the  murderer  of  Genevieve, 
the  first  wife  of  Dr.  Armstrong  !  I  denounce  her  as  having 
abandoned  the  eldest  child  of  her  husband,  and  as  having 
concealed  and  suppressed  the  will  by  which  that  child  wag 
acknowledged  and  constituted  the  heiress  of  the  half  of  the 
Mont  Crystal  estate  !  I  denounce  her  as  having  conspired 
against  the  liberty  of  that  child,  in  having  procured  her  to 
be  sold  as  a  slave !  And  I  appeal  to  Heaven  to  confute  or 
corroborate  my  testimony  !"  and  the  avenger  raised  her 
hand  reverently.  *****  ««  BEHOLD  !  LOOK  TO  Maa. 
ABMBTRONO  !  She  is  falling  I" 

Mrs.  Armstong  had  suddenly  dropped  to  the  floor,  her 
throat  iwollen,  her  face  purple,  her  whole  frame  convulsed  I 
She  was  lifted  and  borne  f 'om  the  room,  and  the  company 
broke  np  in  confnsioi . 


**A  word  with  yon,  Gertrude  the  Destroyer  I"  cora- 
•tttded  the  Ear1  of  Clonmachnois,  beckoning  the  Amazon 
to  tbt  reoMi  of  ft  vi«y  window.  Gertrude,  still "  vibrating 


•  WOOF     OF     THE      3ERFALC01C.          498 

with  the  thunder"  she  Lad  spent,  followed  him,  weak  as  r 
feinting  elephant! 

"  Terrible  denounce.* !  what  have  you  dote  I  Hare  yon 
»ny  proofs  of  what  you  charge  this  woman  with  ?" 

'  Proofs  !  Every  proof  that  will  satisfy  my  own  mind  I 
i'oue,  perhaps,  that  would  convict  her  in  a  court  of  jus- 
-•oe  1" 

'*  Explain  I" 

"  That  little  girl,  Zoe,  the  schoolmaster's  adopted  child, 
who  was  attached  at  The  Lair  as  the  property  of  Miss 
Somerville — that  same  Zoe  was  the  eldest  daughter  of  Dr. 
Hector  Armstrong  and  Genevieve  Somerville,  his  first  wife 
by  a  secret  marriage.  This  marriage  was  concealed  to 
avert  the  anger  of  his  father  and  the  disinheritance  of  the 
•on.  Genevieve  had  no  proofs  of  her  marriage  in  her  own 
possession,  and  the  birth  of  her  child  was  concealed  by 
Harriet,  her  foster-mother,  to  save  the  poor  motherless  girl 
frcn  the  terrible  wrath  of  her  father.  This  concealment 
w«s  effected  under  circumstances  inducing  the  suspicion 
that  Zoe  was  the  child  of  George  and  Harriet.  By  the 
machinations  of  Mrs.  Armstrong,  these  circumstances  were 
long  afterward  used  to  procure  the  attachment  of  Zoe  as  a 
slave,  in  order  that  she  might  be  got  out  of  the  way  1 
This,  however,  in  advance  of  my  story.  Soon  after  the 
birth  of  her  child,  Genevieve  Somerville  died  suddenly,  and 
nnder  suspicion  of  poison.  Soon  after  that  event,  Misg 
Blackiston  married  Dr.  Armstrong.  He  promised  Harriet, 
who  was  in  his  confidence,  to  acknowledge  and  take  home 
his  daughter — a  promise  that  he  deferred  to  perform  from 
time  to  time — in  fact,  he  stood  in  awe  of  his  wife.  Finally, 
he  died  without  having  performed  his  promise.  Just  before 
he  was  taken  to  his  bed,  he  saw  Harriet,  and  told  her  that 
he  had  made  a  will  acknowledging  his  marriage  with  Miss 
Genevieve  Somerville,  aiknowledging  her  daughter  Zoe, 
and  conititatirg  her  heiress  to  half  his  estates.  He  ••& 


494  THE     MOTHKB-IN-LAW. 

that  he  was  resolved  to  reveal  th_e  whole  matter  to  la's  wifb. 
We  believe  that  he  did.  But  he  died,  and  no  mention  wai 
ever  made  of  a  will,  and  no  step  was  taken  by  his  widow  to 
restore  his  eldest  daughter  to  her  rights.  If  there  was  a 
will,  as  we  fully  believe  tJere  was,  Mrs.  Armstrong  probabL 
destroyed  it,  with  all  that  could  have  proved  the  parentage 
efZoe." 

"  But  the  servant,  then — Harriet !  Why  did  she  not  di§- 
;lose  the  secret  ?" 

"  Because  it  would  have  done  every  sort  of  harm,  and  no 
good.  It  would  have  covered  an  honest  family  with  shame 
and  confusion,  without  restoring  Zoe  to  her  rights." 

"  I  do  not  see  that." 

"  Do  you  not  know,  then,  that,  however  honest  and  good 
they  may  be,  the  oath  of  a  slave  or  other  colored  person, 
will  not  pass  in  a  slave  State  against  a  white  person  ?  The 
disclosure  would  have  nearly  killed  the  proud  old  Major 
Somerville,  because  he  could  not  prove  the  marriage. 
Therefore  Harriet  determined  to  keep  the  secret,  at  least 
aritil  the  death  of  Major  Somerville.  You  know  the  events 
that  followed  that  death.  Harriet  and  George  were  taken 
for  debt ;  Zoe  was  attached.  It  was  two  months  before 
Harriet  and  George  wore  redeemed  from  prison.  When 
they  came  out,  the  first  thing  they  heard,  with  astonishment, 
was,  that  Zoe  had  been  attached,  but  was  now  at  liberty. 
The  first  thing  they  did  then  was  to  divulge  to  Miss  Somer- 
ville and  to  Mrs.  Stuart-Gordon  and  myself  the  secret  of 
Zoe's  birth.  Then  General  Stuart-Gordon  was  admitted 
to  the  confidence,  and  he  busied  himself  in  investigating 
the  affair.  Being  unable  to  find  the  clew  to  any  other 
proofs  but  those  of  George  and  Harriet,  it  was  deemed 
prudent  to  take  no  rash  step  in  the  matter,  but  to  watch 
the  course  of  circumstances,  and  in  the  mean  time  to  be  M 
kind  as  possible  to  Zoe.  And  I  suppose,  with  their  rma- 
6*Uy  proden*,  they  would  have  'watched  the  count  «f 


•  WOOF     OF     THE     G1BFALOOV.          495 


drcnmstanoes'  to  this  day,  if  I  had  not  taken  the 
up,  and  trusted  ii  God  for  the  result." 

"  Gertrude  the  Avenger  I  But  this  other  matter  of  Mrs. 
Louis  Stuart-Gordon;  explain  that." 

"  Mrs.  Armstrong,  through  her  omnipotent  influence  over 
''er  daughter,  separated  her  from  her  husband  for  no  other 
reason  than  because  General  Stuart-Gordon  married  a 
•econd  time.  Afterward  she  effected  a  divorce,  and  would 
have  broken  her  heart,  and  Louis's  heart,  and  drawn  you 
Into  the  marriage  with  a  woman  whom  yon  know  very  well 
jroi  o*ily  pitied,  and  did  not  love,  Jamie,  if  it  had  not  been 
form*."  r  i,- 

"  Q-euude  the  Preserver !  Gertrude,  I  never  admired  yon 
»o  much  Jv  all  my  life  as  this  evening." 

****** 

In  the  rrean  time  a  scene  of  death  was  transpiring  above 
rtairs.  In  a  thickly  curtained  room,  upon  a  stately  bed,  lay 
tae  wreck  01  tLe  haughty  and  majestic  Hortense  Blackistone 
.^-mstrocg,  still  in  her  robes  of  state — a  magnificent  ruin  1 
T'-e  Biehop,  still  in  his  canonicals,  and  another  clergyman 
of  ;he  Episcopal  faith,  stood  on  one  side  of  the  bed ;  a 
p^a/siciar  and  a  surgeon  on  the  other ;  Louis  Stuart-Gor- 
don stood  supporting  Louise  at  the  foot  of  the  bed.  The 
Bishop,  anpimoned  to  the  house  to  perform  a  marriage  cere- 
nony,  was  now  reading  the  solemn  service  of  the  dying. 

Mrs,  Armstrong  had  never  spoken,  or  given  the  slightest 
Big"  of  ie  ot-lligence  from  the  moment  of  her  fall.  Her 
t.  v,tack  was  apoplexy — a  disease  to  which  her  full  habit  of 
body  rendered  her  peculiarly  liable.  Terrible  was  the 
struggle  between  Death  and  the  strong  physical  organisa- 
tion he  had  to  conquer  I  AH  night  long  that  swollen  and 
purple  face  was  contorted — all  night  long  that  strong  body 
was  convulsed.  It  was  the  dawn  of  day  before  that  haughty 
face  was  composed— before  that  proud  form  was  still  in  th« 


496  THI     MOTHBB-IK    Li.W. 

rigidity  of  death— before  that  imperious  spirit  had 
to  the  great  secret !" 

Peace  be  with  her  I  We  do  not  know  whether  or  not  she 
were  guilty  of  the  worst  crimes  laid  to  her  charge,  line* 
nothing  but  strong  circumstantial  evidence  rested  against 
her.  We  heard  her  accusation — we  heard  not  her  defense. 
She  was  struck  speechless  and  powerless !  Let  ns  judge 
her  leniently,  or  leave  her  with  her  God ! 

Immediately  after  the  funeral,  Louii  and  Louise  Stuart* 
Gordon  returned  to  The  Isle  of  Rays.  Though  the  papen 
of  Mrs.  Armstrong  were  diligently  searched,  no  vestige  of 
a  will  or  of  a  marriage  certificate,  or  of  any  other  -pipe- 
identifying  Zoe,  as  the  legitimate  daughter  of  Dr.  Arm- 
strong, could  be  found.  Her  fate  rested  upon  the  gen^rosU 
of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Louis  Stuart-Gordon,  who  at  once 
leged  her  as  a  sister,  and  settled  one-half  of  the 
properly  upon  her. 

Among  the  papers  of  the  deceased,  however,  were  found 
some  letters,  dated  near  Richmond,  Virginia,  and  touching 
the  health  and  well-being  of  a  certain  little  child.  Margaret, 
there  at  nurse.  Simultaneously  struck  with  a  wild  hope, 
Louis  and  Louise  hastened  to  the  village,  and  found  there, 
with  more  joy  than  surprise,  their  beloved  child,  Margaret, 
now  a  brave  little  girl  of  three  years  old. 

It  was  clear  that  Mrs.  Armstrong  had  practised  this  de- 
ception to  effect  the  divorce.  It  was  not  certainly  knowi; 
whether  ghe  ever  meant  to  reproduce  the  heirest,  tut  it  wa* 
thought  probable. 

Some  months  from  thig  time  a  double  wedding  was  cele- 
brated at  the  Island  mansion,  and  the  county  papers  the 
next  day  announced  the  two  folk  wing  marriages,  one  imm* 
tttaUlT  under  the  other 


8WOCP     OF    TH1     GKBfALCOJT.         417 

MABBIID. 

On  May  1st,  at  The  Isle  of  Rajs,  the  seat  of  his  Excel- 
toncy  Governor  Stuart- Gordon,  by  the  Rev.  Wilton  Linds- 
lay,  pastor  of  the  Church  of  the  Transfiguration,  the  Right 
Honorable  James  Frobisher,  Earl  of  Clonmachnois,  to 
Gertrude,  only  daughter  of  the  late  Wolfgang  Lion. 

At  the  same  time  and  place,  Brutus  Lion,  Esq.,  of  The 
Lair,  to  Zoe,  eldest  daughter  of  the  late  Dr.  Hector  Arm- 
strong, of  Mont  Crystal. 

Brutus  Lion  and  Zoe  reside  at  Mont  Crystal ;  Louis  and 
Louise  of  course  remain  at  The  Isle  of  Rays,  with  Brigbty 
*nd  the  General. 

A  year  from  this  time,  Wilton  i'-iLis'ty  ana  Susan  8*-C 
errille  were  married ;  and  in  the  attractive  dnties  of  wife, 
mother,  and  pastor's  helpmate,  for  all  the  sorrows  of  h« 
sarly  youth,  SUM  Somerrille  found  rich  compensation, 


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